Heaven Doesn't Want me, Hell's Afraid
by Jo-Anne Storm
Summary: AU after Chosen. Spike resurrects and makes interesting friends in LA. - Updated to fix formatting problems.
1. Heaven and Hell 01

**Title:** Heaven Doesn't Want Me, Hell's Afraid I'll Take Over

**Author:** Jo-Anne Storm

**Rating:** PG-13 (for now)

**Summery:** A living Spike makes interesting friends in LA.

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters belong to Joss Whedon and the people at Mutant Enemy. The plot is purely mine.

**Beta: **Dawn

**Dedications:** To Dev, who at least pretends to understand my frustration over having 90 pages of no plot. He's sweet, at least.

**Notes:** I'd like to take the time to mention the web pages that I've been using heavily during the writing process: City of Angel ) and The Buffyverse Dialog Database ). Both are excellent sites. CoA provides detailed episode summaries for each Angel episode and the Buffyverse DB has the transcripts for each episode of Buffy (with plans to add Angel in the near future). Also, , a must have for anyone who can't spell and/or easily runs out of synonyms.

An extra special thank you to Dawn, the last in a long line of betas. Thank you so much for sticking with this!

I should mention the fact that the characters have completely taken over this story. It started out with a simple phrase: "Heaven doesn't want me, Hell's afraid I'll take over." It wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote a scene. The next thing I know, Spike's taken over and gathering a bunch of people to him. I didn't invite these people! Some of these people I don't even particularly _like_. So what in the world are they doing in my story?

Anyway, on with the story. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

When the light reclaimed him, he found himself half in shadow, the sun playing across his face much the same as a lover's hand. Instinctively, he rolled away from the burning brightness. Only to discover that it didn't burn.

Cautiously, carefully, he inched one slim hand towards the ray of light that shone through what he vaguely recognized as the tree above him. He didn't care about his surroundings, focused solely on the light that his hand was now firmly engulfed in. The light that blazed across his flesh, leaving no mark to tell of it's passing.

Inch by inch, his leather-covered arm followed his hand. His whole body was stiff, poised to snatch the appendage back to the safety of the shadows. Still, nothing happened.

Taking a steadying breath, he forced his whole body into the light, tension screaming from every muscle. Slowly, he relaxed, opening his eyes and gazing up at the grey sky.

Quickly, he ran his eyes over his torso, paying special attention to his hands. No jewelry beyond what he usually wore. No nice little mystical gems. In fact, he was wearing the exact same thing he remembered putting on so many mornings ago. The clothes that he had covered with vampire dust just that morning, when he helped save the world. Had it been that morning?

Black boots were firmly on his feet, and the same jeans hugged his legs. The same tee that made him feel oddly uncovered without the red shirt that he usually wore over it. The long black duster finished the whole outfit off. Just how it should be, down to the fags in his duster and the few dollars wadded up in his jeans. Everything in its place except for the trinket Buffy had gifted him with.

Confused, he focused on his surroundings. Trees, grass, dirt. Possibly a park somewhere. He could have been anywhere in the world, anywhere in any world, and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

It was only then that he noticed the pounding sound. It matched perfectly with the pain in his head. Not the pain of a chip designed to make him Pavlov's dog. The pain of too much noise, too much vodka, and too little sleep. If he didn't know better, he would think he had a hangover.

He ran his hands over his face and pushed them through his hair, vaguely recognizing that it must be pretty warm for his skin to reflect as much heat as he was. His hair was slicked back for the most part, but he could feel where the fight had mussed it up some.

The fight. It all came rushing back at him. The potentials, scared spitless, looking into the abyss. And it stared back at them. The sudden straightening of shoulders as an almost physical wave of power swept through them, giving them all a confidence that came from the knowledge that they were special.

The slayer – Buffy -- staring up at him with tears in her eyes. So much beauty, so much courage, so much love.

She had thought that he didn't know. That he couldn't tell. He could though. Their linked hands had been a prelude to their linked souls. He could feel her love shining brighter than the trinket he had around his neck, had heard it in her declaration.

"No you don't. But thanks," he had said. Not to dismiss her feelings, but to give her the strength to run up the stairs and leave him behind -- by denying the connection that she had resisted for so long. The charade had to be kept, for her sake.

He remembered what had happened next -- the pain, the light. He knew.

He actually felt a little gypped. His life, neither mortal nor vampire, never flashed before his eyes. He didn't get to re-experience the times with his mother, before he had damned her. No Dru, no Dawn. No Buffy. Just darkness and pain.

With a sigh, he picked a direction at random and began walking.

* * *

It took him two hours before he realized he was breathing. Breathing! Drawing in oxygen and exchanging it for carbon dioxide. Inhaling and exhaling. Respiration.

As soon as it hit him, he nervously ran a hand up to his neck. The pounding that he had heard, that he had learned to ignore, that constant pounding was his heart beating. Thumping away in his chest; the same chest that had been still for over a hundred and twenty years.

Sweat popped out on his brow, gathered along his spine, and dampened his underarms. Pores that had atrophied suddenly gave forth massive amounts of liquid. Bile gathered in his stomach, making it roll threateningly.

"Bloody buggerin' hell!" he howled, collapsing to his knees. Spike, William the Bloody, was alive.

Some might wonder, if they had seen him and knew what he was, what he had been, why it took him so long to notice this change in his nature. Vampires don't breathe, their blood doesn't pump. Right?

Wrong. They do draw air into and force it out of their lungs. But there is no respiration. Blood does flow through their bodies, rejuvenating their dead cells with new blood. Yet their hearts don't beat. Spike didn't understand the biology behind it, nor did he care to.

He had heard the story, so many years ago, of the slayer lying injured while his grandsire, his mentor, fretted over the fact that he didn't breathe and therefore could not save her. The Whelp had been on hand to perform CPR, saving the bint's life and setting in motion the events that would eventually lead to Spike's demise. He had laughed at the story, calling his mentor a poof for _wanting_ to save their enemy's life and then for forgetting the basic tenets of vampirism that the man had taught him. Apparently, being cursed with a soul made him strive to forget his very nature. Poof.

Remembering the story now, and remembering Angel's stupidity, was enough to force him back to his feet. He may have a soul, he may be alive, but there was no bloody way he was ever going to turn into Brood Boy.

* * *

He found civilization a short while later. A suburb lay peacefully before him. Cookie cutter houses dotted the streets. In the distance, he could make out a haze that indicated a metropolitan center. A city he could lose himself in.

He snagged a newspaper from one of the many drives, ignoring the twinge of guilt he felt for the small infraction. It was just a newspaper, and he needed it more than the housewife that was sitting in her abode, fantasizing about the neighbor's teenage son.

Looking at the date gave him another shock. It had been over a year. A whole year since the battle at the Hellmouth. A year in which his precious girls could have died, if they had escaped from the battle at all. Dawn. Buffy. The reason he had fought for his soul. Fought for the world.

The paper was _The Los Angeles Times_, making him think that the city in the distance was LA. That was good, in a way. LA held Angel, the poof, and he would know what had happened to the slayer. The souled vampire might try to beat him to death, but in the end would provide clothes, food, information, the things he so desperately needed. It might hurt his pride to go to Peaches for anything resembling help, but he had no choice at the moment.

Carefully putting the paper back in its protective wrapping, he dropped it back on the driveway and continued on his journey.

* * *

Several hours later, after sacrificing his few dollars to pay for bus rides, an experience that made him wonder how they had spent years protecting the world from the forces of darkness and had missed the pure evil that was public transportation, he strode into the Hyperion Hotel, carefully making sure that his duster billowed out behind him in that way that screamed "Big Bad."

"Honey, I'm home!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Only to be met with silence.

"Peaches?" he called. "Cheerleader?"

More silence.

He looked around the hotel for the first time, really taking in the details: the feel of emptiness, the fine layer of dust that had settled over every surface, the lack of smells. It had been empty quite awhile, maybe a year or so. People had still come and gone occasionally, but not in a few months at least.

He drew in the musty air, cataloging the lingering scents of those that had frequented the area. He could smell hair gel combined with the little something that made Angel's smell unique. A mustiness that reminded him vaguely of the way Giles always smelled, if books and knowledge had a smell, it would be that. Sweat and confidence covered one smell, while another was combined with Mexican food and warm electricity. A demon, pleasant smelling as far as demons go, mixed with Curacao and lemonade. Another smell, older, that set off a slight niggling in the back of his head, as if he should recognize it. The cheerleader's smell was also older, faintly covered in perfume and medicine.

There were other smells. Apparently Angel had opened his hotel for business. Although why he would allow the one creature that smelled so strongly of death and destruction to enter was anybody's guess. But those seven smells permeated the entire building. Seven smells to match seven people. People he didn't have a hope of tracking through the jungle of city streets and the mass of human smells. His one hope vanished in a puff of smoke, hopefully not literally.

Setting his jaw, he explored the hotel, finding little more than discarded clothes and the odd weapon. None of which were worth keeping, the clothes either too large or too feminine for him and the weapons discarded because of their low quality. There wasn't even enough change in the cushions of the couch to make a local call. He was well and truly on his own. Well and truly buggered.

The basement of the place still had a heavy bag and a few work out mats scattered around. In sheer frustration, Spike took a couple of swipes at the bag, rattling the chains that held it to the ceiling. He decided it was a good noise and threw his whole weight into the next series of punches, taking his anger and confusion out on the defenseless bag, straining the chains that were meant to withstand Angel's blows. Slowly the smell of his own sweat permeated the room, covering the older smell of Angel and the other, almost familiar, smell. The tension began to drain from his body, leaving him exhausted.

He quaffed a glass of lukewarm water from what was left in the taps and made his way upstairs in search of a room that was half way clean and didn't stink of demon.

* * *

This time, it was the pain and grumbles in his stomach that woke him up. He had experienced the pain of hunger before, especially during his time in the basement of Sunnyhell High. But never had his stomach vocally protested the lack of sustenance. In fact, the only vampire he had ever heard of having "tummy rumbles" was Drusilla, and it was probable that she had just imagined them.

It was while he was tying his boots that the idea came to him. He had noticed the vampire attributes that he was still endowed with. He just hadn't thought the revelation was worth nit picking over. But, it gave him a way to get money, and with money came food and luxuries.

Vampires often stole money and jewels off their victims. The money for their own pleasure and the jewels for souvenirs. Who was to say that he couldn't work the opposite way? Liberate the money from the vampires before they became dust in the wind. He'd be tempted to pawn the tidbits for extra cash, but knew enough to know that he couldn't afford to bring the attention of the police down on himself. LA wasn't Sunnydale, where the cops were deeply stupid.

He needed cash for clothes, food, weapons, and research. If he was going to find out what happened to the old stomping grounds, he was going to have to have access to a computer. He could use a public one at a library, but that meant a library card and ID. More money. He would have to have such documents anyway, if he ever wanted to do anything but live in flea-bag motels or the abandoned Hyperion.

With this in mind, Spike shrugged into his duster and stalked out into the night, hunting for the vampires that preyed on the city.

Using the few stakes he had found in the hotel and his own cunning, he came back that night a couple of hundred dollars richer. He had hunted single vampires, beating them into submission before stripping them of valuables and dusting them.

Instead of going back to the abandoned hotel, he spent a few bucks on a "no-tell motel." He figured, given his new living status, that running water and electricity would be a good thing. Neither of which the Hyperion currently boasted. He stored his bag of non-perishables in the tiny refrigerator and crept into the bathroom.

The light sent roaches scuttling to safety, but that didn't bother him. God knows he had stayed in worse places, the burned-out warehouse being one of the least offensive in his past. He was more interested in the small cracked mirror that hung from the dirty wall.

Mirrors when he was first human had been dark and warped. They often showed a slightly distorted image of the vain person peering into them. He had been taught as a child that vanity was a sin and had therefore not spent long studying his reflection.

The man who looked back at him looked like the image he vaguely remembered seeing in his youth. White-blonde hair curled against his forehead, a hint of the dark roots just beginning to show. Clear blue eyes and prominent cheekbones graced his face. One eyebrow had a scar, the wound received from the sword wielded by the slayer he had killed during the Boxer Rebellion. He never understood why that scar remained when other, worse injuries healed without a trace. The glyphs the First had ordered carved into his chest were just a memory. The burns the slayer had given him with when she had dropped an organ on him were gone. What was so special about that one cut that it left an everlasting mark? Shrugging the thought away, he gathered the toiletries he had bought and stepped into the shower.

The first blast of cold water came as a shock, nastily reminding him that as a human he could feel cold. But was he human? He had a pulse, the need to breathe, but also the strength and senses of a vampire. Was he some amalgamation of vampire and human? A half-breed?

He didn't feel the need for blood, instead the hunger for normal food he had enjoyed eating even as a vampire. Sunlight didn't harm him and the garlic he had sniffed at the grocers' had smelled pleasant. He would have to experiment with holy items, which meant finding a church that was open when no one was around. Couldn't very well start poking and prodding religious icons with a priest watching, wondering if he was going to filch them.

His hair and body newly cleaned, he shut the water off and slicked back his hair from long habit. With one last glance at the mirror, he scurried out of the room and to the crumbled pack of cigarettes he had waiting for him, finally relaxed enough to actually smoke one.

Lighting up the fag was possibly, he thought later, the worst choice he had ever made. He had inhaled the smoke like he had done since he picked up the habit in the forties and immediately started coughing and gasping for air. He quickly stabbed the still smoking cigarette out and tried to draw in a clean breath, only to cough harder at the burning sensation in his chest.

_Note to self: smoking and working lungs do not go well together_, he thought, finally understanding Nibblet's objection to him smoking near her. _Too expensive anyway._

At a loss for what else to do, and too tired to go back out into the night and search for more vampires, he climbed into bed and quickly went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning his other bodily functions caught up with him. Relieving himself after over a hundred years was definitely an interesting sensation. Some instinct told his muscles what to do, so he let them do their job, paying careful attention to the feelings coursing through his body. He had to remember the warning signs to prevent accidents. He wasn't some toddler or vegetable that wet his pants.

Grosser functions dealt with and shower behind him, Spike stepped out into the sunlight once again and headed for the nearest bus stop. He quickly caught a bus, lamenting the loss of his car and motorcycle, and traveled to the nearest mall. Once there, he ate an early lunch and bought more necessities, including a couple changes of clothes.

The next stop was Kinko's, where they allowed him access to the Internet for an exorbitant fee. He quickly discovered that his former home was now the site of the world's largest sinkhole. Geologists were baffled by the occurrence, stating that all previous surveys of the land showed that it was stable. Spike smiled at the Sunnydale Effect, as they always had jokingly called it.

He did a people search for the Scoobies. Willow was the only one that displayed any information, unsurprisingly showing an e-mail address. He hoped that that didn't mean that she was the only one that survived the devastation that had been the Hellmouth.

He signed up for a free e-mail account and dashed off a note to her, praying that she would believe the outlandish claim of a resurrected dead enemy-sometimes-friend. Since she had been known to do a little resurrecting herself, he felt the chances were pretty good.

Satisfied with the afternoon's work, he headed back to his motel, determined to rest up a bit before hunting that night.

* * *

"There's a call for you on line one," Lilah Morgan told her boss, striding into his office with no preamble. When she had been instructed to lure Angel and his team to their side of the fence, using the vast resources of Wolfram and Hart as the bait, she never thought she would end up as the new Head's personal assistant. Of course, the fact that his friend had killed her only added to her amazement over her change in status.

Angel had driven a hard bargain when he accepted the job. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought the famous vampire with a soul had been a lawyour in his human past. He had sniffed out every loophole, every trap in the proposed contract and tore it to shreds. She had had to rewrite the papers again and again to his exacting specifications. For a creature that was supposed to be inherently evil, he had protected his people well.

All of them, bar Lilah, could walk out at any time, never to look back. All projects had to have the express verbal and written approval of Angel and his Board of Directors, to the point that every single step had to be approved. The decision did not need to be unanimous, but majority ruled in the boardroom.

Lilah herself attended every meeting, an occurrence that would have once caused Angel Investigations a whole heap of trouble. But a clause in her new contract insured her loyalty to her boss. It was not that she had been redeemed, but as if she had a chip similar to that installed in William the Bloody's head. She could not take any action that would endanger an innocent life. Wasn't magic grand?

"It's the witch," she told her boss off his questioning look. "She assures me that it is not concerning the death of the slayer or any of her little pets, nor an apocalypse."

"I wasn't aware that your job was to question my friends, Lilah."

She straightened her shoulders and shook the hair off her shoulders. A slight tightness appeared around her mouth and eyes, the only visual indication that she was annoyed. "My job is to screen your calls so that you aren't unnecessarily burdened with riff raff. Had Ms. Rosenberg stated that the call was personal, I would have put her straight through. Or, if she had called your private number instead of going through the channels of the office, it would be different. As it is, I am only doing my job."

Angel raised his eyebrows at her outburst. In response, she turned her back on him and slammed out of the inner office. She had just settled behind her own desk when he strode out, barked out a brief command and headed towards the boardroom.

Lilah shrugged at the terse tone and pressed the button that would send a signal to the beepers of the members of the board. That completed, she gathered her note-taking materials and followed after her boss.

He was in the boardroom, pacing back and forth behind his chair. Nervously, she played with the scarf at her neck, the scarf that hid the line created by her lover's axe. Not that she blamed him. Actually, she was rather proud of the fact that he had overcome his personal feelings in order to do what had to be done. The man might be brilliant, but he did tend to think with his heart.

Charles Gunn, head of Special Projects, was the first to enter. The muscled young black man strode with a confidence that betrayed his conversion to a werecat, if you knew what to look for. Not that he hadn't always been confident, but now it was more than the bravado of the streets that he had before. It was the knowledge that he was more than human.

Lorne, the friendly, horned, green-skinned head of Entertainment came next. His vermillion suit jacket made her head hurt, but highlighted the red of his eyes and horns. He hummed to himself as he settled into his preferred seat, hands moving slightly to direct his internal orchestra.

Winifred Burkle, Fred to her friends, and Boss to the people who worked in the Science Department of the company, wandered in soon afterwards. Lilah silently counted the pencils sticking out of the frail-looking girl's messy bun. A total of eight today and it wasn't even noon. Another pencil was clenched in her teeth and she flipped through a stack of papers as she walked. Angel barely managed to miss running into her as he continued his pacing, vampiric grace coming into play to avoid the collision.

The distinguished head of Research was last. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's hair was casually rumpled, his face sporting several days' worth of scruff. While he had been raised to be perfectly groomed at all times, the new, grungier look fitted him. The coifed look had been a remnant of the Wesley that was all book smarts and cowardice. The Watcher's Council Wesley.

Taking in his just-out-of-bed appearance, Lilah silently lamented their lost… thing. While she had no problems continuing their association, Wesley was apparently squeamish about sleeping with the person he had decapitated. Which was silly, really, in her opinion, it's not like her head had stayed detached.

Once everyone was seated, Angel turned and rocked back on his heels. "I just got off the phone with Willow."

"Oh!" Fred squealed, bouncing a bit in her chair. "How is she? How does she like living in New York?"

"She said New York was great," Angel told her, obviously forgetting his previous agitation. "She been dutifully preparing for her midterms and is planning on going to see _The Sound of Music_ on Broadway."

He physically shook himself to get back on track. "She called to tell me that she had gotten an e-mail from Spike."

Lilah instantly sat up straighter in her chair. Now _this_ was interesting.

"Angel, from what Giles told me about the collapse of Sunnydale, that is impossible."

"Exactly," Angel agreed, focusing on the ex-watcher. "Which is why she asked us to check it out. The e-mail said he was in LA, but didn't give any indication as to where. She traced it to a public computer on Oakdale."

"Um… Excuse me," Fred said with her hand in the air. She pinkened slightly when everyone focused on her. "But, who's Spike?"

All gazes turned back to Angel, who sighed heavily and fell into his chair.

"Spike," Wesley stated, reciting the file he had once studied at the Academy. At the time he thought it would be prudent to be familiar with the slayer's past enemies, especially one that had survived the encounter. "So named for his predilection for torturing victims with railroad spikes. Also known as William the Bloody. Turned in the early 1800s, it is believed. Not much is known about him during those first hundred years. We do know that he appeared in London in 1880, whereupon he took up with Drusilla, Angelus, and Darla. He has bragged about killing two slayers, but the only confirmed kill was that of Nikki Wood in 1977 New York. In '99 he was captured by a government agency that installed a behavior modification chip in his brain. The chip caused pain whenever he tried to harm a human. From then on he was a reluctant ally of Buffy Summers. Thought to have been killed during the closing of the Hellmouth."

"Is that what the Council says about him?" Angel asked. At Wesley's nod he continued. "One day I'm going to get you to show me the information they have on me, just to see how close they are."

Wesley shrugged. "Giles updated your information heavily during your time in Sunnydale. It is believed that your information is possibly the most accurate they have on any vampire. You have to remember that much of the information gathered is based on rumors and supposition. You can't very well go up to a vampire and ask them to give you the details of their life."

"This is all very interesting," Gunn interrupted, tapping his fingers on the table in a bored fashion. "But it doesn't really help."

"Angel-cakes," Lorne said, drawing attention to him. "Wes said you knew him, what can you tell us about him? Is he going to come down on us all fire and brimstone?"

Angel sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Spike… Spike is ruthless when he wants something. He doesn't let anything get in his way. Contrary to the Watcher's supposed information, Spike was turned in 1880 by Dru."

"Hold up," Gunn interrupted again. "Crazy, ho-bag, childe of Angelus, Dru?"

"That's the one," Angel muttered.

"So," Fred stated nervously. "That makes him like your grandson?"

Angel sighed again and leaned back in his chair. "If vampire bloodlines were human bloodlines, then yes."

"What is it with you and crazy family members?" Gun muttered.

Wesley was silent, staring at Angel in shock. Lilah worried for a moment that he had gone non-verbal. Then she saw him start to furiously scribble down what Angel had revealed, no doubt ecstatic at the thought of thumbing his nose at the memory of the Council that had sacked him for being incompetent. He had come a long way from that weak bookworm.

"Anyway," Angel said, straightening back up and shooting a glare at Gunn. "I don't know much about his life before Dru found him. She kept him to herself for a few days. When I first met him he dressed and talked like a gentleman. Within a few months, you never would have guessed he was raised anywhere but the streets. He insisted on being called Spike.

"He loved violence and was totally devoted to Drusilla. The four of us roamed Europe for about twenty years, until the gypsies cursed me. I caught up with them in China, 1900, 1901, something like that. At the time I was trying to prove to myself and others that the curse hadn't changed who I was. Didn't work out very well.

"It was in China that Spike killed his first slayer. I can still remember him gloating about it. He even offered me first shot at the new one, if we ever ran across her."

Wesley made a few more notes before looking up. "1900, China? You're positive that's when it happened?" When Angel nodded he continued. "That would have been Mai Lin. With the Boxer Rebellion it was damn near impossible to keep track of the movements of vampires. Her watcher was killed a few weeks beforehand in a fire and the Council never knew what exactly happened to her."

"Now you know," Gunn stated.

"What happened after that?" Fred prodded.

"Not sure," Angel confessed. "When I realized I could never go back to being what I had been, I ran as far and as fast as possible. I kept track of everybody's movements, if for no other reason to avoid them. Darla broke off from Spike and Dru sometime in the early 1900s. Probably to join the Master in his efforts to open the Hellmouth. As far as I know, she remained in Sunnydale after that."

"Until you staked her," Fred reminded him quietly.

"Until I staked her and our lovely Lilah brought her back. Lilah, you wouldn't know anything about this, would you?"

"Angel," she said, the picture of innocence. "Why would I do a thing like that?" Instantly Angel was in her face, one hand wrapped around her throat.

"Need I remind you that I am the only one who has the power to free you from your pathetic body? Yes or no, do you know anything about why the apparently dead Spike is not dust?"

"No," she croaked, drawing a relieved breath once he withdrew his hand. She didn't really need to breathe, it was a comfort thing. Silently she cursed the compulsion that made it impossible for her to lie to him.

Angel was back in his seat, looking calm and collected. "Spike and Dru roamed around a bit after that. I know he was in New York in the seventies and Prague in the nineties.

"He brought Dru to Sunnydale in '97. She had been hurt by a mob and he thought the Hellmouth would restore her. They did a ritual using my blood, which Buffy and Kendra interrupted. Buffy put Spike in a wheelchair for a few months, much to both his and my annoyance."

He took another deep breath and continued. "One thing Wes doesn't know, that I don't think Giles even knows, is that Spike worked with Buffy before the Initiative. After I lost my soul, he made a truce with her. He would help her fight me in return for his and Dru's safe passage from Sunnydale."

"Oh, that is so sweet," the little Texan cooed from her seat near Angel. "He made a deal with his enemy in order to save his true love."

The men at the table looked indulgently at Fred while Lilah rolled her eyes.

"You might appreciate it, but Dru didn't. She left him in Brazil. I think that that was the first time he had been truly alone since he was sired. It was the first time I had ever seen a vamp, other than Drusilla, depressed. He returned to Sunnydale for a couple of days before deciding to torture Dru into loving him again."

"OK, definitely not of the sweet," Gunn murmured.

"He returned to Sunnydale in '99, looking for a mystical gem that would allow him to walk in the daylight. He found it, Buffy got it back from him and sent it to me, which led to Spike coming to LA and terrorizing me, Cordelia, and Doyle. We sent him back with his tail tucked between his legs."

"Whoa, Sugar," Lorne interrupted. "You have some mystical gem that would let you walk around like a normal human and you don't use it?"

Angel shook his head. "It was called the Gem of Amara. It made vampires invulnerable. I destroyed it."

The occupants of the room looked at their friendly neighborhood vampire in disbelief before rolling their eyes.

"That was when the government got him. He must have been pretty desperate to go to Buffy and her friends for help. He worked with them, not always willingly, until Sunnydale collapsed a year ago. Everyone thought that he had died, at least until Willow opened her e-mail today."

The room was silent for a minute before Lorne spoke up. "Nuh uh, Sweet Cheeks. I can tell you're not telling us the whole story and you're not even singing. What really happened?"

Angel gave a low moan and rubbed his face vigorously. "That's all you need to know."

"I think not, Angel," Wesley stated, frowning at his friend. "If you want us to help you on this, we have to know everything."

The CEO of Wolfram and Hart looked mutinous for a moment before nodding.

"Most vampires feel nothing but hate and anger. There are a few exceptions: James and Elizabeth being two. Spike is another one. He was completely devoted to Dru. He worshiped the very ground she walked on. The very fact that he made a deal with Buffy in order to protect Dru just goes to show how much he cared for her.

"After she took off and he got chipped, he transferred that devotion to Buffy. Actually, to Buffy's whole family. Before Buffy died, he promised her he would protect Dawn. When she got back, he was there for her in ways no one else was."

"Something happened," Gunn stated, understanding the human need to make a connection.

"Something happened. And then it ended. Spike disappeared for about three months. No one's sure of exactly when he left or when he got back. Buffy found him in the basement of the high school, talking to himself. And before you ask, no, insanity isn't transferred through blood, so he didn't 'inherit' it from Dru.

"Like I said, I'm sketchy on the details, but wherever he went, he came back with a soul." The others spluttered in shock. He thought back to his conversation with Buffy after she and the new slayers had arrived in LA. "Buffy said that it wasn't a curse, not like mine. Or if it was a curse he had it done deliberately. He did it because she couldn't love a soulless demon."

Fred sniffled, a tear in her eye at the thought of someone risking everything for true love. "Wow," she whispered.

Lilah snorted at the sentimentality of it all. A waste of time in her opinion.

"So," Gunn said. "Souled Vamp, Jr. is still kickin'. And we need to find him, right?"

Angel nodded. "Yeah, we need to find out if he somehow survived the collapse. Do whatever you can to find him. Gunn, I want you to give this priority. Wes, see if you can find out anything about how he could have survived."

"Have you considered the idea that the prophecy may have been referring to him," Wesley ventured, wincing as Angel scowled.

"The Shanshu prophecy? I considered it when I was talking to Willow. But I just can't believe that the Powers have dangled that particular carrot in front of me for so long only to jerk it away and give it to Spike. Unless we hear otherwise, assume that he's still a vampire. Worst case: without a soul."

"But," Fred pointed out hesitatingly. "The chip would prevent him from hurting anyone, even without a soul."

"No. It malfunctioned at some point after he got the soul. It was removed."

Wesley and Gunn quickly stood and left. Fred glanced at Angel, silently asking if there was a specific task he wanted her to do before hurrying out of the room.

The vampire stared at the demon and undead employee for a moment before signaling Lilah to leave. He made sure she was out of ear shot before looking back at his friend.

"You know the routine, Pastry," the empathic demon told him.


	2. Heaven and Hell 02

AN: **Dedications:** To Fish, for unknowingly giving me the inspiration on what to nickname Greg.

* * *

Three days later found Spike in an alley on the outskirts of LA, surrounded by five vampires. Five very pissed vampires.

He had stalked a lone hunter through part of the city, waiting for him to turn into a secluded spot so that he could dust him without involving any of the humans around him. The vampire had led him on a merry chase, finally turning into a deserted alley. The deserted alley that had come alive with the undead as soon as Spike moved in for the kill.

"You've hunted us for too long, boy," the apparent leader, a statuesque red head hissed.

"Really? Less than a week and I already have you runnin' scared? Yay me."

The vampiress snarled at him. "A week? Yes, that may be how long you've been after me, Hunter, but we both know that you've been actively dusting my kindred for much longer. It ends tonight. I will be the one to bring you down."

"'Kindred?'" Spike scoffed. "You a White Wolf fan, pet?"

With that the fight was on. He managed to stake two of the minions, obviously newly raised, right away. The other two were harder, more experienced in the ways of battle. But, they were chosen for brawn, not speed or cunning, and they too were quickly finished.

Finally, he danced with the master. She was good; she actually could have given him a run for his money...if he had both his legs and spine crushed, that is. But, as everyone knows, the white hats always win and tonight was no exception. He soon had her pinned to the ground, arm behind her back in a painful hold while he used one hand to search her pockets.

"So, pet," he said conversationally as he pulled out a small clutch bag. "What's your name?"

"Rose," she growled.

"Pretty name. Been undead long?"

"Longer than you will ever live."

He gave a wry chuckle. "Oh, I don't know about that. I'm pretty hard to kill. Been around longer than you might think. I will tell you one thing, though. I'm not this Hunter you've been after. I've only been in LA about a week. I am a bit famous, though, if I do say so myself. Name's Spike, maybe you heard of me?"

The vampire gave a growling laugh. "You're just one more human in the never-ending cycle of idiots who think they can defeat us. You'll learn, human."

"Used to go by the name William the Bloody, back in the day." The vampiress was suddenly still, apparently straining to hear him now. "Course, I was originally giving that moniker because I was a bloody awful poet."

"Impossible," she snarled, bucking against the knees that held her down. "You're human."

"Neat, innit?" he smirked as he rammed the stake home and fell the few inches to the asphalt.

He dusted his knees as he stood up, cursing the dust that managed to sink between the very fibers of the cloth. The next thing he knew, he was lying several feet from where he had stood, pain blossoming in his head.

"Bloody hell," he snarled as he clamored to his feet. Before him stood yet another vampire, this one snarling in sheer rage.

"You killed Rose!" the vampire growled as he swung a pipe at Spike's head.

"And you killed Kenny," he quipped back, causing the enraged vamp to take another swing, this one glancing off his shoulder.

"In all fairness, mate, she did start it. I was just a bloke mindin' his own business when she attacked me."

The vampire took another swing, forcing him to lean far back to avoid the pipe.

"Course, my business _was_ huntin' vampires, so I guess, in a way, I did start it."

The vampire snarled and tossed the pipe away before diving at Spike.

"Really must work on those anger management issues," he quipped as he scampered away from the creature's path. He ignored the part of him that reminded him that taunting a vamp wasn't the smartest of ideas.

"Course, you also need to work on hygiene and fashion, too. Livin' for an eternity is no excuse not to brush you teeth, mate."

The vampire apparently went non-verbal at the taunt, instead growling and causing spittle to fly from his mouth.

As he dodged another tackle, Spike vaguely heard the sound of a motorcycle at the head of the alley. All of his concentration was on the vamp, though, and he could spare no more than a quick prayour that the sound didn't signal the arrival of more vamps.

He spotted a broken pallet against the wall of the alley, one piece sticking out helpfully. With a wicked smirk, he turned his back to the wood and faced the vampire.

"Toro, toro, toro!" he said gleefully as the vamp once again charged him. This time he waited until the last second to move aside, giving the vamp no time to avoid the deadly piece of plank. Dust instantly filled the air.

Sensing yet someone else standing in the alley and remembering the sound of a motorcycle, he turned with deceptive calmness to look at the newcomer.

"You gonna take a swipe at me too?" he asked, scarred eyebrow raised as he appraised the man.

"Nah," he said, tucking a stake into his pocket. "Just making sure you had it under control."

The newcomer didn't look like much. Human, mid to late twenties, about the same height and build as Spike. A scarred and beaten leather motorcycle jacket hugged his upper body. He sported short dark hair and a scar on his jaw.

"I did," Spike said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the offered backup. "Got a name?"

"Greg Scales," the newcomer said. "Hunter, to the vamps."

Spike nodded. "Yeah, the bint here, er, this pile that was the bint, at least, thought I was you. Was a bit disappointed when I corrected her assumption."

"And you?"

"Spike." Greg's lip quirked at the name, reminding Spike of all of his original human insecurities. "William."

"No last name?"

He wasn't sure what made him say the name that instinctively came out of his mouth. The name he hadn't used in well over a hundred years. "Roch-" Instantly realizing what he said, he continued. "-dale. William Rochdale."

"Well, Spike Rochdale, how about we go somewhere and get a bit of coffee."

"Could do with a spot. Know a place nearby?"

Greg nodded and led him out of the alley. Kicking up the stand to an older cycle, he pushed it along the sidewalk. "Café just around the corner has decent coffee and some of the best apple pie around. And it's pretty quiet, so we can talk without people thinking we're crazy."

"That a common problem?"

"In this area, at least. We're far enough from LA proper here that people forget that we _are_ part of LA. People in the 'Burbs like to think that they're above the rest of the world, especially here."

"And, of course," Spike said, knowing this tale, having heard it a thousand times before in a thousand different places. "None of them know what's out there."

"'Xactly," he said as he reparked the bike and led Spike inside. They sat at the booth in the back and ordered coffee. Spike also got a slice of peach pie, having never tried it. Once their order was delivered, they started the conversation back up.

"How long you been doing this?" Greg asked.

"'Bout four years, I guess. Didn't want nothing to do with it, at first. Wasn't my problem, ya know? I actually did everything in my power not to get involved. Then, suddenly, I was. You?"

"Nine years." He ignored Spike's grunt and continued. "I was eighteen when my best friend tried to kill me. Freaked out, ran. Couldn't run far enough, though. Had to dust Benny, had to help save the day. Been doing it ever since."

"By yourself? Not a smart way of doing it."

"Mostly," the Hunter nodded. "Had a few friends here and there. They'd all run away eventually; couldn't handle the pressure. And you're one to talk. You were soloing it too."

"Had a group I worked with. We got separated. Well, I got separated. Been trying to track 'em down, but it takes time."

"And when you find them?"

"Dunno," Spike shrugged. "Got a lot of history, me and them. Maybe they don't want me back."

"History?"

Spike glared at his potential ally. "Personal."

Greg nodded, letting the subject drop. "You don't usually hunt in this area."

"Nah, jut' tracked one fledge from downtown. Got ambushed, you know the rest."

"Could always use the company, if you're ever in the area again."

Spike regarded him. "Dunno. Like working alone."

"So do I. Tell me, what are you?"

Spike shifted uncomfortably. "Dunno what you mean."

"You're faster than a human. Possibly stronger. I saw you fight, remember?"

Spike concentrated on the crumbs of his pie, gathering them up on his fork, delaying answering the question. "Far as I know, I'm human. When I was separated from the group… Somethin' happened to me. Not sure what. I woke up like I am now: strong, fast, agile. Got a problem with it?"

"Nah," Greg shook his head. "No problem. Just like knowing who and what my allies are."

"Not one of those bloody wankers that think anything different is bad and should be destroyed?"

His companion's head shook once again. "In the real world you quickly learn that not everything is black and white. I've known demons that had more humanity than some humans. Even worked with a half-breed demon once. Nice guy, could drink anyone under the table.

"I usually patrol the area around the Hemery Heights community. Sundown to about three. Wouldn't mind a little company, if you're interested."

Spike considered him for a moment. Was the man on the level? Was he really ok patrolling with a person he had only just met? His gut feeling told him that this man was on the up and up. Trusting his instincts, he nodded.

"Where and when you wanna meet?"

"How about Hemery High right before sundown? The school's big, so it's hard to miss. And the fledges that went there before they died like to visit their old stomping grounds. I usually manage a couple there every few nights."

Spike nodded and quaffed his coffee. "Tomorrow, then," he said, throwing a few bills on the counter. "Should warn you, though, I tend to use the vamps as a money source."

Greg smiled. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

The two men nodded at one another and parted ways, Spike back to his motel, Greg back to his life as the Hunter.

* * *

Spike was about to let himself into his room when he saw the note taped to the door. Giving it a quick glance, he crumbled it and turned to the office and manager within.

"Got some people asking about you," the man said with no preamble once he saw Spike.

"Tell 'em anything?" Spike asked suspiciously.

The manager snorted. "Do I look like an idiot? Most the guys in here don't want to be found. I'd lose all my business if I opened my mouth."

Spike nodded. "What did they look like?"

"Suit, tall, blonde, snooty accent. Looked down his nose at me the entire time."

"English?"

"No, just snooty. Didn't ask for you by name, described you."

Spike nodded once again. "Thanks, mate. Be gone tomorrow."

The manager shrugged. "Whatever."

* * *

The thousand he got off the master vamp from the night before was enough, combined with what he had squirreled away, to ensure a rush job on his new ID. By mid-afternoon he had a birth certificate, social security card, passport, and driver's license in the name of William Rochdale. According to the papers, he had dual citizenship for Britain and the US, something that added to the price considerably but explained away his accent.

With the few hundred he had left, he rented a new room closer to the Hemery Heights area. It was a bit rattier, but the money he pressed into his new landlord's hand would ensure his privacy.

A trip to the library netted him a library card and no response from the witch. Not that he expected one, really. Red was too smart to take the e-mail at face value. She would have shown it to the rest of the Scoobs, possibly contacting Angel to see if he knew anything about it. Unless the slayer and her pals were in LA already, they would send the poof to look for him. And, if it was a hoax or if he had turned evil again, Peaches would be able to take care of the problem.

He read while he waited for dusk. He read the latest book in the series Dawn had always raved about. He had ended up reading the previous books that awful summer that Buffy was gone, simply to try to keep the younger Summers distracted. A boy destined to save the world, surrounded by magic and big bads. Change it to a girl and the character would be a slayer.

He walked to the school that evening. It was a large school, big enough to handle four grades at a time. The open architecture reminded him of the old Sunnydale High, before the slayer had blown it up.

Greg was waiting for him. They sat on a low stone wall and watched the sun go down. Time to go to work.

The school was easy to break into. Greg only had to give a certain door a good shove. The door didn't latch right, he explained. The faculty didn't know, but all the kids did.

The halls echoed oddly as their boots rang on the floor. The acoustics designed to reduce the noise of hundreds of feet conversely amplified the sound of four. Strange.

There were no vamps there that night, but there were plenty in the parks and cemeteries nearby. Greg soon learned to rely on Spike's ability to sniff the undead out, literally. The ex-vampire's senses were sharp enough to tell the difference between a fledgling and a master. He thought he could guess their ages to within two years if he tried. Not that he experimented with this skill. It wasn't polite to ask vampires their age.

On the way to get coffee and to divide up the night's "earnings," they saw a small demon running through the park they were passing through. Spike cocked his head to the side, looking after the small creature.

"What was that?" Greg asked.

"Dunno, Fish-man," Spike answered, having decided that Scales' personal nickname would be Fish. "Looked a bit familiar, but went by too quickly to tell."

Curious, they both started in the direction the creature had taken. Both knew that despite its size, it was possibly very dangerous. Contrary to what all men say, sometimes size does matter.

Spike quickly caught its scent and tracked it through the park. It had left a trail of fear stench so wide that he was surprised Fish couldn't smell it. He caught sight of a trembling bush and realized that that's where the little creature was hiding. Before he had a chance to approach it, a new noise had him whipping around.

A man stood behind him and Greg, shotgun clenched in his hand. He was taller than Spike and broader in the chest. He wore an odd combination of clothes, furs, and skins. He stank of death and Spike instantly knew that this was what the demon had been running from.

"Get out of the way," the man said, his voice gravelly. "I'm tracking a dangerous beast."

"Really?" Greg said, rocking back on his heals and affecting an air of naivety. "Coyote come down from the mountains, maybe?"

"Much worse. You probably have never heard of it. It's called a Qoarth, nasty sombitches that will rip the guts right out of ya. Now, move, before it gets away."

Spike instantly recognized the name. Qoarths were a huge race of demons, fierce-looking and deadly, but only if attacked. Even then, the attacker would have to draw blood before their intended victim would do more than defend himself, a feat that was near impossible given their skill in martial arts. If the creature he was chasing was a Qoarth it was very young, no more than a baby, and totally defenseless against this human.

"Qoarth, huh?" Greg continued after catching the look in his companion's eye. "What'd it look like, maybe we saw it?"

"Trust me, if you had seen it, you'd be dead. Qoarths kill without warning, mercy, or provocation. Unless you want to be its next victim, I suggest you move out of the way."

"Why," Spike said, adopting an American accent. "That there sounds like a dangerous creature. We'd be glad to help you, Mr…?"

"Cain. Now move."

"Cain, huh? Heard of a man named Cain once. Bounty hunter. Last I heard, he was huntin' werewolves three days a month. Wouldn't be you, now would it?"

Cain growled out a reply and raised his gun to his shoulder. "Mister, unless you want to be filled full of holes, I suggest you move."

"Interesting creatures, werewolves," Spike said conversationally, slipping back into his normal accent. "Totally harmless twenty-seven days a month. Can only hunt them for their pelts during the full moon. And then you have to skin them alive, because the minute they die they turn human again. It's not a full moon, Mr. Cain. What are you doing out from underneath your rock?"

Cain shrugged. "Mans gotta make a livin' the other twenty-seven days of the month, doesn't he?"

Spike eyed the shotgun trained on him, debating whether or not he wanted to risk getting shot with his new living status. "True," he said, apparently relaxed. "And Qoarths bring in quite a penny on the black market. Long as you have no compunction with killin' a peaceful, sentient being. I don't think you have a problem with that, do you, Cain?"

The bounty hunter snorted. "Next you're going to tell me that they're harmless little teddy bears."

"Never said that," he denied, shrugging his shoulders. "Can be peaceful and know how to fight. 'Sides, they don't look much like bears."

"Move," Cain snarled, motioning with his gun.

Spike took a deep breath and launched into action, snatching the gun from the man's hands and using the end to lash him across the face. Cain slumped down with a groan.

Greg looked at him, eyebrows raised.

Spike shrugged. "Don't like blokes that pick on little kids."

Greg continued to stare at him as he checked to make sure that the man was out. "Why don't you see if he has anything of use while I try to convince the kid to come out of hiding."

Spike knelt down by the still trembling bush. "It's OK to come out now, little one," he crooned softly, imitating the natural tones of an adult Qoarth. "We took care of the mean ol' bounty hunter."

It took several more minutes of the almost singing to get the demon child out of the bush and Spike quickly checked it over, looking for injuries. The soft lavender skin that indicated it was female was unmarred bar for a few scratches. The four legs that ended in delicate hooves shook in fear, but held her slight weight with no problem. Her slender arms hugged her torso, hiding the scraps of fabric that made up her tunic. Her eyes were huge, the dark purple irises overwhelmed by her black pupils. Her deep purple hair hung in straggly lengths, but he suspected it shone like royal velvet when it was clean and brushed. Most noticeably, the ornate collar and matching belt gleamed with precious metals and stones.

"Well, hello there, Princess," Spike muttered, his breath catching in his throat. She would be beautiful when she grew up. Beautiful by human and Qoarth standards.

He heard Greg's breath catch behind him at the sight of the child, but chose to ignore his new friend in favor of reassuring the terrified child in front of him.

"Do you speak English, Princess?" At her blank look he gave a sad smile. "I'll take that as a no. That'll make things a bit harder, you see, since I've not spoken Arthian in quite awhile. Let's see what I remember, yes?"

With that he started to fumble through the words he needed to convey that she was safe, that he would help her. It was a struggle to keep his frustration with his limited vocal cords out of his voice, as such frustration would only scare the child, but judging by the slight relaxation of her face, he succeeded in getting his point across.

After a few minutes, he picked the small being up in his arms and cradled her against his chest. A few more sounds, voiced low in her ear, had her pointing in the direction from which she came, away from the heart of the city.

"Speak quietly," Spike said to Greg as they came up beside him. "Qoarths have very sensitive ears and loud noises can hurt and frighten them."

"She's beautiful," his companion whispered, gazing at the child in awe. "Like a purple centaur."

"Centaurs are their distant cousins," he explained. "Both species are known for their great skill in battle and for their incredible loyalty. Qoarths have an intricate language of sounds that extend far beyond the human perception. It's impossible for me, or anyone really, to speak it correctly."

"How did you learn the little you know?"

"Oh," Spike shrugged. "It's amazin' what you can pick up in a couple of years."

Greg looked skeptical, but did not call him on it. "Where are we going?" he questioned as they left the unconscious bounty hunter behind.

"Princess here says her home is in this direction. She's young enough to be totally defenseless, which is no doubt why Cain chose her to hunt. She's really no more than a baby, maybe twenty years old, if that."

"How long do they live?"

"Dunno. Never thought of asking."

They left the suburbs and continued walking into the hills surrounding the city. Princess was quiet in his arms, occasionally rubbing her head against his shoulder in the universal sign of affection. Or of an itchy face.

"What was she doing all the way in town if she lives out here?" Greg finally asked after they had traveled for several miles without seeing any signs of civilization.

"Dunno. Hoping there's an adult who can speak English when we get her home. I just hope we don't get her home only to find out that her mother or father is chained up somewhere, waiting for Cain's bullet."

Greg nodded his head, wincing at the thought that such a beautiful creature could be murdered for nothing more than greed.

Eventually they came to a small grotto. Spike paused, looking around the seemingly magical place, before following the pointed finger to the hidden entrance to a large cave. In the almost total darkness, he thanked whatever gods had granted that his night vision remain the same as it had been when he was a vampire. It was the only thing that kept him from falling and dropping his precious burden.

They rounded a bend in the tunnel and came upon a lighted corridor. Not needing the child's direction now, he continued on until he saw the two burly guards standing at an ornate gate.

Upon seeing him, the nine foot tall Qoarths leveled their spears at him, faces stony masks. These adult males did not look much like the child he carried. These were full warriors, hardened in battle and sporting the scars to prove it. The one on the left had a scar that ran the length of his face, just missing his left eye and arching down to connect with the corner of his mouth. The one on the right had whip marks on his flanks and back. He had been a slave at one point.

The child woke up from the light doze when she sensed his sudden stillness and rubbed her eyes with dirt encrusted hands. Seeing the guards, she gave a happy little trill and wiggled, trying to get down.

"Hush, Princess," Spike crooned as he patted her back. "I'll set you down, just give me a minute."

Putting deed to words, he gently set her on her hooves and released her. She pranced to the ex-slave guard and raised her hands high, emitting a soft sound he could only assume was a demand to be picked up. The giant obliged her, setting his spear against the wall beforehand. With the child safely in his arms, he rumbled something to his companion and strode through the gates.

Seeing that the little princess was in safe hands, Spike turned to the last guard and hesitantly spoke in his own language. When he got no response, he nudged Greg in the ribs and started backing away, only stopping when the guard raised his spear once again and muttered a clear stop in his musical language.

"What's happening?" Greg whispered.

"Not sure, actually. He said to stop, so I stopped. Don't feel like getting up close and personal like with that spear."

His companion nodded, understanding his hesitation completely. He wasn't sure he could even lift the spear, much less pull it out of Spike's body if it went in.

Another male came through the gates and Spike was quick to notice the bracers on his wrists. They, like his daughter's ornaments, were heavy with gold and gems. The bracers highlighted his dark tone, so deeply purple it was almost black. His carriage was one of power and command. The kind you are born to and the kind you fight to earn. All these things told Spike that the creature before him was the king of this clan of Qoarths.

"Thank you for returning my daughter," he rumbled in accented English. "You have done me and my clan a great service. What is the reward you seek?"

Taking a steadying breath, Spike allowed his experiences with the gentry of his homeland to take over and bowed deeply. "Milord," he stated quietly. "My companion and I only wish to know that the Princess is safe. Returning such a gem to her home is more than reward enough."

The king regarded him with his black eyes, dissecting what he said, looking for lies in the intonation of his voice. Finally, he nodded.

"You speak the truth, being. Because of this your reward shall be great. It shall not be measured in material wealth, but in knowledge. Lanthia, the daughter you have returned to me, is a powerful seer. On the journey here, she dreamt of your destiny unfolding before you, being. You are the one long spoken of in the prophecies of our cousins, the centaurs. The creature of the dark that rebelled against his nature. For a century it was believed that it was the cursed vampire that was spoken of, until we heard of your deed in Africa."

"Surely you are mistaken, Milord. Prophecies are for slayers, not me."

The king gave him a baleful glare for the forceful denial before reciting the rhyme in question.

"The thrice-dead slayer,

The thrice-tasked dead.

The two are joined forever,

The forces of light are led.

The End of Days are over,

The First bends its head.

Neither dead, nor of the living,

The soul draws breath.

Alive but not living,

The Slayer longs for her Death.

To live, to die, to live again,

They restore balance with every breath."

Spike growled at the king, a rather impressive sound, considering he was human now. "Fuck that!" he snarled, forgetting to moderate his voice for the Qoarths' sensitive ears. "No! I didn't bloody well go through all of that so that just to watch her die again!"

The king looked at him for a moment, his triangular ears twitching as they recovered from Spike's outburst.

"Whoever said you would?" he finally murmured.

"You, you bloody purple ponce! You said she longs for her death. That she's given up."

The king held up one hand, stalling Spike's tirade. "I'm terribly sorry. That is the problem with prophecies, you know, they never come right out and say what they mean. Especially ones in the form of rhyme. Has anyone wondered why people write prophecies in such a way? Terribly rude of them.

"William," he said, shocking Spike. "You are not to watch her die; you are her Death."

Spike growled once again, glaring at the creature who had offended him. "You need to go back and look into your buggerin' crystal ball again, then. You read your tea leaves wrong, because there is no way I will ever, ever be the cause of her death!"

The king sighed, running a large hand over his face. "Let's try this again, shall we? We'll dispense with the poetry and I'll speak plainly, yes? You are not the cause of your slayer's death. You are the reason for her to go on living. You are her darkness, she is your light, together you are one."

Spike looked at him for a moment before laughing quietly. He could hear Greg shift uncomfortably behind him, confused by the proceedings.

"You got the wrong bloke anyway, Milord," he stated, remembering both his manners and the beginning of the ditty. "She hasn't died three times."

"Yes, she has," the king stated calmly. "Our seers have watched her very closely since her first death. After Africa, we researched your past most extensively. You, in your life of darkness, took the lives of two slayers. Your slayer died twice, once at the hands of the Master, once in self-sacrifice, to balance out these two deaths. The lives you cut short were given to this young woman that you love."

"And the third?"

"Happened at the same moment that you received your soul." Spike stumbled, remembering the flash of unbearable pain that had coursed through his body when his soul was returned to his corpse. "We believe you also killed a potential slayer. That is the death that balances out the slayer's last death.

"When you sacrificed yourself, much as she once sacrificed herself, balance was restored. Your unnatural life for your death. Your life was returned to you, yet to ensure that you would be a worthy mate for your love, you retained a bit of the darkness that makes you who you are. You still hold a remnant of the demon that inhabited your body for so many years. Enough to make you stronger, but not enough to induce the weaknesses inherent amongst vampires.

"Do you understand now, William? You and she are balanced. Your dark to her light."

Spike nodded numbly, for once unable to come up with a quick turn of phrase.

"You two will do great things together, William. Defeating the First and freeing the slayer line from the bonds that man forced on it was only the beginning. You both think that you know what you are, what's to come. You have no idea. This is just the beginning.

"Now," he stated, straightening his shoulders and giving his withers a shake. "Your time in our caves is over. You have returned to me something precious and I have rewarded you. You must leave this place in peace, as you came."

He turned to go, only stopping when Spike's voice reached him once again.

"We'll never be complete, the two of us, if I have what you're sayin' right. Never complete unless we are together, yes? Where is she? Do you know? Can you tell me?"

The king gave him a benign smile. "No, William. There are still trials before you, trials before her. You will find each other, do not worry. It has been written."

"Prophecies are tricky things," Spike reminded him.

"Not to those who can See, William. And this has been Seen. You will find her and she will find you." He disappeared through the gates, leaving the two men alone with the guard.

Silently, they made their way back to the surface, each's thoughts whirling at an amazing rate, taking in what they had seen, what they had heard.

Spike finally spoke when they had traveled halfway back to where they had found the young princess. "Suppose you'd like an explanation?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

"Do ya know what a slayer is?"

Greg nodded. "I met one when I first started fighting. One girl in all the world, etcetera etcetera, etcetera. She was just a kid, even younger than I was. She ran away from her duty, moved to some little town a couple of hours away."

Spike nodded and did some quick calculations in his head. "You met one nine years ago, right mate? I suppose it's possible that you met the one that came before, but the timing is right, as is the place. Her name's Buffy, right?"

Greg stared at him in shock, stumbling over a rock in his distraction. "She still alive?" He gave a derisive snort. "Course she is, she hides from the badies."

"Don't know her very well, do you? She didn't run away to hide… Or maybe she did, but she jumped right from the frying pan into the fire. That safe little town she moved to? Nuh uh. It was the Mouth of Hell. Literally."

The rest of the trip consisted of Spike filling in the blanks in Greg's knowledge of the Slayer's life. Her friends, her deaths, her triumphs. He shied away from speaking about her love life, dodging his companion's questions about how a vampire, even an ex-vampire, could have a soul mate in a slayer.

"And what about you, mate? You gonna tell me how you know the girl?"

Greg took a deep breath and began his own story. "When I met Buffy, I was drunk off my ass. It was a pretty much a constant condition at that point in my life. I had finished school the year before, had a dead-end job working in a garage, and my life pretty much sucked. The only friend I had was Benny, and he got turned the night I met her. The next night I found him climbing the wall outside my window, asking me to invite him in. Not a great day.

"I booked the next night, but I guess Benny told his master that I would be a good addition to the 'family.' They wrecked my van and almost got me when she showed up. Rather bad first and second impressions, what with being drunk then passing out at her feet. It didn't help that everyone called me 'Pike' at the time."

"Pike?"

"Yeah," he said, giving a shrug. "Came from the whole 'Scales' thing, same as you calling me 'Fish.' Anyway, I started helping her out. Her watcher was killed by the master we were up against, Lothos, and she just kinda quit. Decided that she was going to go to the school dance come Hell or high water.

"Course, she didn't know that Lothos' lair was in the basement. He and his minions attacked the dance, demanding Buffy. She took on him and his second, Amylin, and I protected the idiots at the dance. And I ended up throwing Benny into a circuit box. The sparks roasted both him and the school gym.

"Buffy got blamed for the gym burning down, never mind the fact that we had trapped all the minions inside at the time. Between that and her parents getting a divorce, she decided she'd had enough. Her job was over. She walked away and never looked back."

Spike shook his head at both Greg's tale and the similarities between her life before and at Sunnydale. That was his girl, going to the dance, taking names, and kicking ass.

"She told me about that night," Spike said, remembering the talking they had done the night before the Hellmouth collapsed. He knew that she had told him so much about her life because she had expected to die. She wanted to make sure that someone remembered who she was, that she was more than the slayer. He had been honored that she chose him.

"Said she almost bought the farm before the electricity cut out. It was enough to shake her from Lothos' thrall. You saved her life, mate."

Greg grunted. "I've been patrolling ever since, trying to make a difference. Once I got a taste for protecting humanity, I was hooked."

"Seems all the slayer's blokes feel that way. Her little Scoobies, they were nothing more than scared kids when I met them. She changed them, gave them the courage to fight. Her love for them kept them together, kept them strong. They fell apart when she wasn't there. They remind her why she keeps fighting."

He stopped beside his companion's cycle and gazed up at the high school. "And this was where it all started. Where one special girl was called. Girl who changed the world." He shot Greg a smirk and left him in silence.


	3. Heaven and Hell 03

**Dedications:** To Karen, who opened my eyes to Connor's potential. Go read her series, starting with " Camp Killalot." Seriously, go!

**Notes:** OK, so technically, in canon, Spike never saw Xander acting like an idiot about Dracula. Literary license is now in effect.

"Charver" is a British slang term for "boy" and "mate," which is why Spike nicknames Connor that.

* * *

"What do you mean you lost him?" Angel snarled into the phone. Agitated, he paced up and down his office, waiting for the answer on the other end.

"Yes, Gunn, I realize that LA is a large city, but you are the head of Special Projects. You have sources far beyond the normal and paranormal norms. Finding one vampire should be no problem.

"Damn it, Gunn, just find him!" Angel growled and slammed the phone into its base, cracking the handset.

* * *

"I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but... After that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again... Do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways... Every night I save you."

He looked across at her, eyes gleaming at the words uttered. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry.

"I wanted them to do a spell. Any spell that would bring you back to me. Any spell that would make me stop counting the days. I didn't though. You've earned your rest."

She was standing in the bright sunshine, the light radiating off her hair. She was beautiful. So alive, so golden.

She turned to him. "I miss you. Are you happy?"

He silently tucked her head under his chin. "Not exactly a clam, love. I deal."

"Where are you?"

"Around. You'll find me when the time's right. Not our time yet, love. Not our time. Gotta follow the plan."

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eyes. "Whose plan? It's not mine."

"Mine neither, love. But we still have miles to go."

"This is just a dream," she stated, burrowing back into his chest.

"Is it yours or mine?"

"Mine, I think. Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"Cand think of anything."

"Where are you?"

"With you. Always with you. You can't get rid of me, not really. This, now, is just a glitch. I'll find you soon. Or you'll find me."

"Don't go," she said, feeling him pulling away.

"I have to, it's time." Spike kissed her forehead.

"Every night I save you," she repeated in a whisper as he faded.

On opposite coasts, two blondes woke up from their slumber, gasping.

* * *

The next few weeks passed quickly for Spike. He spent his time patrolling with Greg, slowly gathering a nice little nest egg from the "death tax" they charged the demons they killed. He didn't put it in the bank, years of a transient life coming into play. He rented several different lockers at various places: the airport, a bus station, even a bowling alley and a self-storage place, putting several thousand at each location. He kept the keys on him at all times, each carried on a separate ring with the address of the location. Life as a vampire had made him a little paranoid.

He knew, given a chance, that many of the denizens of the underworld and human world would love to get their hands on him. Either revenge or experimentation would be the main reason. He figured it didn't matter. Dead was dead. He had done dead; he liked being alive.

He sent off a few more e-mails to Willow, telling her that he was fine and still in LA. He shared amusing anecdotes about his patrolling adventures. He came close to begging her to reply, to tell him that Buffy and Dawn had made it. He explained that he wanted to find them, was looking for them even as he typed, but that if Buffy told him he was not wanted, he would disappear. Until that moment occurred, he promised to continue to write, to search. And assured her that none of them should be surprised if they opened the door one day to find him standing on the porch, begging to be let in.

Every once in awhile he caught sight of burly men in suits, men who looked like they could do some damage, even to someone with supernatural speed and strength. He instinctively avoided these men, sensing that they were trouble. Maybe they were members of the Council's Retrieval Team. They had the look of the blokes that had gone after Buffy when Faith was driving.

He knew, he remembered, that the Council had been destroyed by the First. But societies like that never stayed gone for long. Someone would, or had, revitalized it. Possibly even now stuffy English chaps were brainwashing little girls into becoming mindless killing machines. It was too much to hope for that Giles, or a man like him, had resurrected the society.

He considered renting an apartment, someplace nice. But he figured having to explain away blood stains when it came time for him to be refunded his security deposit was too much trouble. Instead, he changed motels every couple of weeks, leaving randomly in the week, ignoring the fact that he had paid up until the weekend.

He lived, if you could call it living, the only way he knew how. He patrolled, he slept, he missed his girls.

* * *

"We found another motel," Fred said without preamble, following Gunn into Angel's office.

"He'd paid up through the week, but had obviously been gone for a couple of days. The key was sitting on the table in the locked room, just waiting for the manager to figure out it was unoccupied."

"We've tried to find a pattern to the motels, seeing if he's making his way through town or something like that. But, unless he's operating using a…"

"Wave-form quadratic equation," Fred supplied.

"We got nothing, boss."

Angel sighed and propped his elbows on the desk. "And the rest of it?"

"No increase in neck wounds to the local hospitals. If anything, demon activity drops off when he's in the area."

Angel was silent for a moment. "Is there any evidence that he's hunting in a particular area? Not soiling his own home?"

"No," Fred assured him. "There are no districts that show a marked increase in attacks."

"Any that show a decrease?"

"Only the Hemery Heights area," Gunn explained. "Suburb to the north of the city."

" Hemery Heights," Angel murmured. "Yes, I remember Hemery Heights. Buffy lived there before moving to Sunnydale. Start posting men there, see what's happening. It could be a coincidence that Buffy's old territory has suddenly become a safe place. I want to be sure, though."

Gunn nodded and exited, leaving Fred alone with Angel.

"So, are ya ready to talk about what Lorne told ya?" she asked. She had gotten tired of the brooding Angel had fallen into after his disclosure about Spike and his subsequent reading with Lorne. She figured since Cordy was out of commission, it was up to her to chivy him out of the dumps.

Angel regarded his young friend for a moment before nodding.

"I'm still on the path the Powers set before me. My redemption could be close at hand or a hundred years from now. Either way, I have to keep working for it."

Fred smiled. "That's good, right?"

"Yes," he said, smiling back. "That's good."

* * *

While Gunn's men staked out Hemery Heights, Spike and Greg decided to widen their patrolling area. That was the reason they were exploring the UCLA area that particular night. Little did they know, at the time, that fate has a hand in everything, even the decision on where to patrol.

They heard the screams first, two voices raised in terror. Not even bothering to check if the other backed him up, both men ran towards the sound, weapons held defensively.

Spike smelled the blood next. It no longer drew him as if were an aphrodisiac, instead making his stomach clench with unnamed fears. He could follow the smell, though. A boon when the screams died.

They rounded the corner of an alley to find five vampires swarming around two kids. The men launched themselves into the mass of moving beasts, dusting without pity or remorse.

The masses pared down, Spike faced off with the remaining vamp while Greg checked on the kids. A few moments later it was over and Spike's pocket was a little heavier.

He joined Greg at the side of the two huddled forms. They couldn't have been much older than Dawn, too young to be introduced to this life. The girl of the pair would have no chance to grow up, he saw at a glance. The unnatural angle of her head told its own tale.

The boy was in bad shape. His hands were raw from where he had fought his captures, possibly to get to his friend. His short brown hair was matted with blood, a matching stain graced one wall of the alley. The puncture wounds on his neck were angry and red. Spike could only hope that they had gotten to him in time.

He pushed aside the fact that the boy felt familiar somehow. Smelt familiar. As if he had met him a long time ago and had since forgotten the smell.

Pulling out his cell phone, Greg made a quick call to 911 as Spike stood guard. The ex-demon silently cursed himself for not being that little bit faster, that little bit smarter. Maybe if he was faster, smarter, the girl would still be alive.

The ambulance arrived in quick order. The men stayed until the boy was placed in its confines, IVs of red and clear dripping into his arms, before silently melting away. The police in the area were savvy enough to know the cause of the wounds and to identify the piles of dust scattered in the alley. The detective had simply stared at them for a moment, her blue eyes considering, before thanking them for their help.

They patrolled UCLA more often after that night, dusting five or six vamps a night. It was high numbers for such a small area in distance. The demons loved to prey on the students who frequented the area, knowing that many would not be missed if they didn't show up for the next day's classes. The sheer amount of alcohol available to the students, both of age and under, made the demons' hunt all that easier.

Every once in awhile they would catch sight of the detective they had talked to. Her hair shone brightly in the night, much like Buffy's had. Often, when they saw her, she was covered in a fine layour of dust. They talked about approaching her, seeing if she wanted or needed help. Spike knew better than to patronize a strong woman, though. Especially one who knew how to use weapons. He assured Greg that if she needed help, she'd be able to find them.

It was about a week after that first patrol that the kid found him. He looked none the worse for wear; even his bite had faded to nothing more than a small pink scar.

"Kid," Greg greeted. "Feeling better?"

The boy nodded his head amiably. "Been worse." He stood in front of the warriors, regarding them with interest.

"What?" Spike finally asked, tired of playing the staring game.

"What were they?"

"Something you don't have to deal with," Greg assured him before continuing walking.

The boy grabbed him by the arm. "They killed Christy. She was my friend."

"Honor her memory by not gettin' yourself killed, kid," Spike snarled. The boy's smell was niggling at the back of his mind, taunting him.

Greg pulled out of the boy's grasp and started away again.

"I can take care of myself," the boy stated, clearly believing the claim.

They ignored him, continuing on their patrol. Or, at least that was the plan, until he grabbed Spike by the arm and spun him around.

Instantly, the boy found himself against the wall, Spike's arm at his throat, constricting his breathing. Fear shone from his eyes, as did determination.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Connor. Connor Trent."

"Well, Connor, you have definitely got some _cajones_," Greg told him. "But this isn't a life you want. Go home, live your life."

Spike eased up on the kid's throat, only to find himself tossed against the light post behind him. He shook his head, a bit dazed from the impact, and regarded the kid, Connor, who was breathing heavily. Greg took a threatening step forwards, but Spike waved him off.

"I'm alright, mate." He turned to Connor, straightening his shoulders to appear more opposing. He was a bit impressed that he had managed to throw him off. It was only then that he noticed that the "kid" was the same height as he was. Maybe he wasn't so much a kid as a young man.

"Alright, then. You think you can take care of yourself, previous evidence not withstanding? Show me what ya got." He motioned for Connor to take the first move, leaning negligently against the post. The relaxed pose drew the boy in, making him over confident.

Spike dodged the wild swing to his head, whirling out of the way with the grace inherent among his former brethren. Connor quickly recovered and regarded him with eyes a little wiser than they had been a moment before. His second attack was more cautious, but not so cautious as to be slow.

Spike was again impressed by the kid's speed. Given the chance, he could most likely take care of himself, against humans, at least. Spike was holding back, using a level of speed and strength associated with normal humans, using his past sparing sessions with the Potentials to be his guide on how hard to hit, how fast to move.

Connor caught a glancing blow to his chin which whipped his head around and caused the blood to fly. A light seemed to go on in the depths of his eyes, and after wiping the blood from his lip, he launched himself at Spike once again.

Spike smiled at the move. Anger was the key to this boy. Make him angry and he lost control. The fight would be over soon.

Spike stepped out of the way, whirling around to face where the boy should have landed flat on his face, only to be kicked in the chest before he could completely shift his attention.

Spike dodged the next punch, confused as to why the boy wasn't kissing asphalt. He knew vampires who couldn't recover from a lunge like that.

He backed away from the spinning kick the boy had aimed at him and decided that he'd had enough screwing around. He caught Connor's next punch, pulling him off balance and towards the wall of the closed shop in front of him.

Connor went with the momentum of the pull, hitting the wall with his feet, pushing off and flipping over Spike's head. The ex-demon watched him with narrowed eyes, anger and excitement seething below the surface of his thoughts. The boy was good, impossibly good. Even if he had been trained his whole life in martial arts, he was performing feats that normal humans could not do. So what was he? Half breed? Spell enhanced?

Connor recovered from the flip, wobbling slightly, as if he were out of practice. He kicked out, almost too fast for the eye to see, catching Spike on the shoulder, the force knocking him slightly off balance. While he recovered his balance, Connor launched into a new series of attacks.

Serious now, Spike countered every move, using his demon-enhanced abilities to their fullest. Neither got the upper hand for several minutes, trading blow for blow quicker than any normal human would be able to.

Finally, when Connor came a little too close to him, Spike saw his chance. With speed born of frustration, he barreled his upper body into the boy's, sweeping his leg out from under him at the same time. Unbalanced, Connor whirled his arms widely and braced for the impact he never felt.

Spike held him up by his lightweight jacket, mere inches from where the fall had started. "Lesson the first," he said, giving the hanging boy a little shake to insure that the lesson stuck. "You lose your balance-"

"You lose," Connor finished, pulling the phrase out of some distant part of his memory.

Spike set the boy, no, the young man, back on his feet, a courtesy Angelus had never offered when he taught Spike the same lesson. Silently, he regarded the young man, deciding how to phrase the question.

"What are you?" he finally asked, deciding to forgo tact.

"What do you mean?" Connor replied, looking confused and slightly nauseas at the question.

"I mean, no regular human could ever move like that. So unless we suddenly got stuck in _The_ _Matrix_, you're hiding something."

"You were moving the same way," the younger pointed out.

Spike smirked. "Noticed that, did ya?"

Connor gave a short nod. "What are you?"

Spike shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. "No idea, really."

Greg coughed, drawing their attention to him. "Having fun?" He waited a beat, giving them a chance to answer the mostly rhetorical question. "How about we go to that café just down the street? We can sit, drink coffee, maybe get some ice cream…"

"Ice cream?" Spike perked up. He had discovered that his human taste buds adored the frozen goodness that was ice cream. He was systematically working his way through all the flavors available, trying to decide which his favorite was. So far, it was a tie between Butter Pecan and Double Chocolate.

He turned towards the café, never seeing the amused glances his companions exchanged.

Fifteen minutes later, Spike decided that he was in love. Or that he had died and gone to heaven, he wasn't sure. If Joyce's hot chocolate and itty bitty marshmallows could be frozen, it would look and taste like Rocky Road. OK, so hot chocolate didn't have nuts, but that only made Spike adore the confection that much more.

"So," he said around a mouthful of ecstasy. "What are 'ou?"

"Human," Connor said with a shrug, trailing his spoon through his own bowl of vanilla. "Far as I know, at least."

"You ever do anything like tonight before?" Greg asked, smirking at the closed-eyed expression on Spike's face.

"No. I mean, I've taken martial arts classes for years and always did OK in them, but nothing like tonight. Do you think it could have just been some type of endorphin rush?"

Spike shook his head in denial. "Nah, it was too smooth. Just watching you, I would have guessed you had been fightin' all your life. Even vampires have to be taught how to fight. He might be faster and stronger, but that means bugger all if he can't throw a punch."

"How is that possible though?" Connor asked, confused.

"Dunno," Spike confessed. "Maybe a spell that made you forget who you were. Possibly you've been infected by some demon, one that enhanced your natural abilities. I just don't know."

"Hold up," Connor said. "Demon?"

Spike nodded and turned his attention away from his empty bowl, suppressing a pout at the vanishing of the ice cream. What on Earth happened to it? He surely hadn't eaten all three scoops that quickly.

"Not all demons are evil. Some are productive members of society even. Some demons can imbue a person with some of their characteristics. Mind readin,' scales, the usual. Some mages can force an aspect of a demon on people, making them stronger and faster. That's how the first slayer came about."

"Slayer?" Conner asked, confused.

"'One girl in all the world with the strength and speed to kill vampires,'" Spike said by rote. "Only it's not true now. The world is full of slayers."

"So, where's this slayer, or any slayer, now?"

"Dunno," Spike shrugged, earning a vaguely sympathetic look from Greg. The other man made sure to keep it circumspect as to not notify the world that he was really a softy under all his bluster. "Like I said, they're scattered all over the world now."

"So," Connor said, bringing the conversation back around. "You're saying that I could be a slayer?"

Greg shook his head. "Slayers are always female. That's just the way it works."

"So, unless you got somethin' you want to share with the class, that's not an option."

Connor was silent, trying to determine if his manhood had just been insulted or not.

"Thought not," Spike stated with a grin. "Could be that something similar happened to you, though. Have you been bitten, scratched, or stabbed by anything unusual lately?"

"Just the vampire the other night."

"Did one of them give you their blood?" Greg asked, taking a shot in the dark.

Spike shook his head. "The only one I've ever heard that type of thing working for 'em is the Count."

"The Count?" Greg asked.

Spike rolled his eyes, exasperated at the memory. "Count 'I Vant to Suck your Blud' Dracula, his self. And he can only make mindless slaves with the trick, not warriors."

"You know Dracula?" Connor asked in awe.

"Pfft. He's a poofter, all lace and flowin' hair. Bints seem to like him. He owes me money. Though," he laughed. "Harris wanderin' around trying to keep the slayer and the rest from figurin' out that he was the servant was bloody hilarious. He was going around saying things like 'the Dark Master…bator' to try to cover his own ass. Well worth the eleven pounds he owes me."

Connor looked at him oddly, obviously wanting to question him about how he knew Dracula, but knowing that he needed answers to his own dilemma first.

"I'd guess a spell of some kind. I couldn't even guess how to reverse it. Never was much one for magic. Seen all kinds of things go wrong. It can lead to badness and excessive cookie making."

Spike waved off the confused looks. "Story for another day. The point is: we don't know if the spell, if it was a spell, took away your memories or gave you that something extra. And unless Fish here knows a trustworthy empathy demon, you're kinda stuck."

Greg shook his head. "I tend to avoid the underground. I make them nervous for some reason. Last empathy demon I heard about disappeared a few years ago. His nightclub got blown up and he pretty much dropped off the face of the Earth. I think he's still around, but it'd be hard to find him."

Spike regarded Connor for a few minutes. "Put some feelers out; see if he's still taking clients. I think our boy Connor here would appreciate knowing what's the what."

"You have the strangest vocabulary I have ever heard," Connor observed. "One minute you're talking like a professor, the next you're a teen. Who are you?"

"Just Spike," the man in question stated, leaning back in the booth and running his hand through his hair. "I suppose that's my cue to tell you a little about myself?" At Connor's nod, Spike shook his head. "Sorry, mate. No offence to you, but I don't trust you at the moment. I'll train with you, I'll patrol with you, but until I'm sure, you'll just have to be left wanting."

Connor frowned but nodded. "Does that mean you'll let me help you?"

Greg and Spike exchanged glances, each understand the other's decision.

"Yep," Greg supplied. "Patrolling in a group is always safer than alone. You have the skills, so I don't see why not."

They talked for awhile longer, exchanging information without getting too far out of Spike's comfort zone. He wanted to trust the kid, everything in him said to trust him, but until he knew for sure, he wasn't about to take the chance.

* * *

Patrolling with Connor was more fun than Spike would have expected. For the first few nights he was stiff, hesitant. Soon, he moved like a predator: swift and graceful.

Slowly, surely, they learned more about Connor's gifts. If it hadn't of been for the fact that Spike saw him regularly in direct sunlight, he would think the young man was a vampire. _God help the world if he was ever turned_, Spike thought often.

The strength and speed manifested first, that first night proving to Spike that he was able to help. They, along with his unnatural grace, only improved as the weeks went by. They developed a series of tests to check his progress and the levels of the skills he had gained. After a month, when he had been jumping three stories high, pacing Spike in a short race, and bending three lengths of rebar for several days in a row with no improvement, they declared those skills at their highest natural point. Spike thought if he worked with weights and distance running, the bending and racing would get even better.

It was a week into their companionship that he noticed his acute sense of smell. Spike had always been the one to sniff out demons and blood trails until one night when Connor caught a whiff of blood. He called to Spike, who had been at the other end of the alley, looking at the spatter of demon goo that had once been a creature.

"You're right," Spike said, closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly to the side, taking in the smells of the alley. "How did you know?"

"I-I could smell it."

Spike looked at him oddly for a moment before nodding and indicating that the younger man lead the way. Greg trailed silently behind, watching their backs as they focused on the trail.

"Whoever it is, he's not hurt bad," Connor concluded, looking to Spike for confirmation.

"That's right," he praised. Working with Connor often reminded him of working with Dawn. He remembered the lessons the Nibblet had taught him well. Constant praise, reassurance, and the occasional scold were all that were needed to keep her in line when she was under his protection. Connor was much the same, but without the need to ask a guy's opinion on clothes and boys.

Both Greg and Spike looked on their companion as a younger brother. A younger brother that could kick their asses, yes, but still loved and praised.

"Do you think whoever it is was injured by that demon?" Connor whispered, nose still searching for the elusive scent of blood.

"Most likely. And a bloke who can go up against an Arnath demon with only a scratch is a bloke I'd appreciate knowing."

"What are they like?" he asked, trusting Spike's superior knowledge of the demon world.

"You ever seen a jello mold that didn't come out the way it was supposed to? Pretty much like that. Knew a bloke who kept one as a pet. Used to like feedin' it people and watching them get digested. That's the cool thing about Arnath's: they're see through."

Connor shot him a disbelieving look, unsure if Spike was pulling his leg or not. Spike gave an innocent smile and nodded to indicate that Connor should continue tracking.

They found her several blocks later, huddled against the corner of two buildings, her back protected and her gun in plain view. Spike could smell the fear rolling off of Detective Lockley in waves. Making sure he made a bit of noise, as to not startle her any more than necessary, he approached her, hands out to show that he was unarmed.

"Detective? Are you OK?"

Eyes wide, she leveled her gun at him. Only his vampire enhanced sight allowed him to see the slight tremor of the pistol and the wince as she brought her arm up.

"Detective, pet? It's William Rochdale, Spike. You remember me? We met a couple of weeks ago? We see each other every so often, just around and about the neighborhood, you know?"

She backed further into the corner and whimpered, her gun never wavering from the angle that would send a bullet through his chest. Even vampires couldn't dodge bullets, and Spike had no desire to see if a great big buggering hole in his chest would kill him. Odds were against him in that scenario.

"You're one of them," she whispered. "I can see your true face: a monster. They thought I was crazy, you know? Showing up at all the weird cases, even the ones I wasn't assigned to. They started calling me Scully as a joke. But I knew, I knew."

Spike silently cursed, running through everything he knew about Arnaths. He didn't think that they were poisonous, but he could find no other explanation for her rambles and apparent hallucinations.

"Pet, I want you to think carefully, OK? Did anythin' bite you? Or sting you, maybe?"

She shook her head, her hair wildly swinging in her face. "No. No stings, no bites. Fell when the thing attacked me. The jello mold. The stars are whispering to me, Spike," she said in a wavering voice. "They're singing of blood and death."

Spike smiled, memories of Dru flitting through his head. "Alright, pet. No bites, no stings. What were you doing earlier tonight? Before the jello?"

She looked confused, her vacant eyes staring at the street light on the corner. "He was a nice man. Didn't get stuck in my teeth at all," she tittered.

"What nice man?"

"He gave me a drink. At the bar. The bar in the sand. Sand bar!"

Spike turned to his companions. "I think she's bloody tripping. Maybe this bloke she's mumbling about slipped her a mickey. We need to get her to hospital."

Greg nodded and pulled out his trusty cell phone, dialing 911.

"They fired me, you know," Lockley was saying from her crouched position. "They called it a suspension, but I knew what it was. They thought I was crazy."

"But you aren't, pet," Spike assured her, stepping a little closer, wondering if he could talk her out of the gun.

"No, I wasn't. Proved it to them all. The lights around your head are so pretty, did you know that? They sparkle and snap with life. And the handprint on your chest… Why is there a handprint on your chest? Did it hurt, the hand reaching in and putting it back?"

Spike frowned at her, a bit alarmed by what she was saying. He knew that she was bug-ass crazy, out of her head with whatever drug had been given her, but a few of her comments struck too close to the mark to be coincidence.

"So pretty. Glowing. No, not glowing. Nothing rhymes, you see. Effulgent, yes, that's a good word. Effulgent."

He drew a deep breath in through his nose, shocked at her words. If there had been any doubt in his mind that this was more than an LSD induced episode, her words disallowed that doubt.

She hummed to herself, content for a moment to rock back and forth in the dirt.

Spike backed away, rejoining his friends. "She's not off her bloody rocker," he whispered, uneasiness showing through in his voice. "Th-the things she said, too correct to be hallucinations."

"She's psychic?" Connor asked, looking at the detective with interest.

Spike nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know if whatever drug she was given has let it out or what." He turned to Greg, about to tell him to redial the ambulance, when he noticed Connor step closer to the humming woman. He was in her sight range before Spike could reach him.

"Detective Lockley?" the boy called softly. Spike decided then and there that once this was over the _child_, since he was too stupid to be a man, would be taken over his knee and beaten to within an inch of his life. "Do you remember me, Detective? My name is Connor Trent. You helped me a few weeks ago."

The detective turned her blue gaze to the boy. "No… Not Trent. You don't exist. Sparks fly in the sky and birds sing. The stars sing to me tonight."

"What do you mean I don't exist?" the boy prodded.

"Too hard in the world. Brave new world for you. Gift of love. Gift of family." She focused on the sky and started singing a lullaby under her breath.

"Who gave me the gift?" When she didn't respond, he sighed and tried a different tack. "Can you tell me your first name?"

"Kate. I am my father's daughter. You are your father's son."

"My father is a good man."

"No!" she screamed, clutching her head. In doing so, she dropped the gun which allowed Spike to rush in and grab it. She never noticed. "He couldn't save my father. He didn't try hard enough. Not hard enough."

"My father is Harold Trent, Kate. Harold Trent, do you know him?"

"No, not father. Not father. Vampire. Vampire. Put them in a bowl and stir them together," she sang, her eyes flitting to the side where Spike could hear sirens. "What do you get when you stir them together? A little boy who kills his mother. Mother, lover, daughter. All the same, end of game."

Connor was prevented from making another comment by the arrival of the ambulance. They watched them pack the tripping Kate Lockley into the back of the white vehicle, an IV firmly in place in her strapped-down arm before giving statements to the accompanying officers. Spike handed over the gun, saying that she had thrown it from herself in one of her more delusional moments and that he had picked it up only in the interest in insuring that she didn't hurt anyone.

As they left the dark alley, Spike thought about everything Kate Lockley had said. Especially the cryptic remarks about Connor. To most it would have sounded like nonsense. Living with Dru for over a hundred years had taught Spike a thing or two about deciphering the jumble of words that could come out of a prophet's mouth. Connor was, impossibly, the son of two vampires. Spike wasn't positive who either the dead mother or the presumably alive father were, but he had a pretty good idea. All he needed was a trip to the Hyperion to make sure.

* * *

"' Noon, pet," Spike greeted a much more comprehensible Kate the next afternoon.

"Mr. Rochdale," she said, looking faintly embarrassed by his presence. "Um, thank you. For last night, I mean."

"No problem, Copper. Just glad you're feeling to rights again. What do you remember from last night?"

Kate blushed. "Not much. I was having a drink before…my nightly stroll. There was this man, pretty nice, his blue eyes reflected very nicely in the mirror behind the bar. He bought me a drink. I started to feel a little sick, so I left. Green jello? Is that right? I'm not sure what happened to make me seriously dislike green jello, but something did. And you and another man. Younger than you. Then… here," she said, gesturing around the room.

"Do you happen to remember what happened after we found you? What you said?"

Kate looked confused. "Did I insult you or something?"

Spike smiled at her. "Nah, Copper. It wasn't anything bad. Mind if I ask you a personal question?" Off her shrug, he spoke again. "Why were you drinking before takin' your walk? You should know better 'n that, pet."

Kate sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "I have to, in order to go out there every night."

"Why go out at all?"

"My father… He wasn't the best father, but he was mine, ya know? Vampires killed him, and I couldn't do a thing about it."

"So, it's a revenge kick? Not the best reason to be doing this, Copper."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" she asked in an obvious ploy to change the subject.

"You're a cop. Would you rather I call you Bobby?"

She groaned and glared at him. "Can't you think of something a little more flattering?"

"Beagle, bird dog, hound, flatfoot, bull, eye, fed, ferret, fink… I think Copper's probably the best you're gonna get."

She looked at him in amazement. "How did you pull all of those out of your head?"

He shrugged, looking faintly embarrassed. "I'll tell you, but only if you promise to tell me why you drink." The detective looked mutinous for a moment before tightening her mouth and giving a short nod. "When I was younger, oh, about a hundred years ago it feels now, I wanted to be a poet. I was bloody awful, tell the truth, but I loved it. It's just been a long habit of mine to know words." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Deal's a deal, Copper."

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck again. "After finding out about them, I just couldn't sit back, ya know? I had to do something. So, I go out, night after night, doing my best to make the world a little safer. It's my contribution."

Spike nodded, understanding the woman's motivations. They were the same that the Scoobies used every time they risked their lives.

"Listen," he said, bringing up the subject he had discussed with both Greg and Connor. "Going it alone, it's killin' ya, pet. It's slowly eating at ya until you're going to go bat shit. That is if some nasty doesn't get to ya first. One already got a piece of ya," he said, indicating the bite scar on her neck. "Patrol with us. Me, Fish, Charver, we'll watch your back."

"What is up with you calling people by nicknames?"

Spike shrugged. "Dunno, pet. I think, maybe, it's a way for me to make them my own, you know? Done it for as long as I can remember. Give you a little tip, pet: when I use your real name, it means I'm absolutely serious. And I'm serious now, Kate. You need help."

Looking a bit lost, Kate nodded, tears slowly leaking out of her eyes.


	4. Heaven and Hell 04

**Notes:** I admit it, I broke out the old song and dance… Well, the old song anyway. While this isn't a songfic, Spike does sing in this chapter. Can anyone say "Lorne?" I knew you could.

Groo makes an appearance in this chapter. Be warned, I have once again strayed from canon. Whedon'ts Groo had a demon mother and was banished due to his human "taint." I decided to give him a bit more of a romanticized background.

And, Groo's "freaky Mormon" comment, that is not my view, so please don't flame me. It just seems like something Cordy would say.

* * *

"It's about inspiration," Buffy said, gazing into his eyes.

"You are my inspiration," Spike murmured, kissing her shoulder before dipping his paint brush into the paint she was holding. "Even feel a verse of the Righteous Brothers comin' on, love."

"Please don't," she said, wrinkling her nose. The action earned her a quick dab with the wet brush, leaving a splotch of paint.

"Quit wriggling. You'll mess up the painting."

She glanced over her shoulder, causing him to hiss in frustration when her hair dragged though the wet paint.

"I want to see," she pouted.

He groaned, this time because of a completely different type of frustration. "Slayer… Not the lip, you know what it does to me. And you know we can't. Not yet."

"Why not?" she harrumphed, resting her chin on her crossed arms once more. Spike once again settled her long hair over one shoulder before taking a baby wipe and cleaning up the mess she had made of his art.

"Have to fix it before it settles in. Now, be a good love and hold still."

"Why can't we be together?"

Spike sighed, once again loading the tiny brush with the black paint. "I dunno, Buffy. Because that's the way it has to be. Miles to go yet."

She sighed and tried to lie still. "I get to do you next, right?" She could feel Spike's smirk. "You know what I mean!"

"You can 'do me' any time you want, love." He blew lightly on the flesh of her lower back, causing goose bumps to rise on her bare flesh. "Done. That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"Yes," she pouted, squirming to try to dissipate the feeling he had sent coursing through her. "Can I move now?"

"Yep. Just don't lie on your back for a few minutes, just to make sure it's dry."

Buffy nodded and carefully levered herself off the bed, being careful that none of her hair escaped the niche between her shoulder and neck. "What about my hair?"

He gave a soft smile and started gathering the mass in his hands. "It's beautiful. We'll pull it back, yes?"

Buffy nodded and allowed him to pile her hair on top of her head, securing it with a clip.

"Where do you want it?" she asked, picking up the brush and holding it ready. Spike dodged the drip of black paint that dripped from the tip.

"Don't care, love," he said, taking the wipe and cleaning the dab of paint off her nose. "It's your mark. Put it wherever you think is appropriate."

Buffy pushed him to his back and straddled his hips, determinately ignoring the evidence of his desire. "You didn't get to offer your opinion on where yours went," she softly reminded him, worried that she had hurt his feelings by not giving him the option.

"You could have wanted it on the sole of your foot, love," he assured her, giving her a soft kiss. "I didn't care. It's the art that matters, not the placement."

Buffy nodded and dipped her brush into the paint. Before handing the tiny can to Spike. "What should it look like?"

Spike shrugged, "Its art, Buffy. Just go with the flow."

She smiled at him, love radiating out of her eyes. Gently, she placed a kiss over his heart before touching the brush to his chest.

* * *

They had decided that it would be easier to get one place where they could all live. Spike and Greg did the leg work, searching out converted buildings and the like. They finally found a match in a renovated warehouse, a fact that Spike had found rather ironic considering the amount of time he had spent living in abandoned ones.

The first floor was completely open, providing plenty of space for training and equipment. A balcony ran the length of the upstairs, connecting the offices, now converted into individual suites, to the stairs. There were several access points in the building, proving alternate escape routes.

Spike and Greg helped Kate empty her rather desolate apartment, getting her possessions moved in one day. Greg's apartment took two days, even with the added help from Connor, who had a break from his studies. The teen was going to finish his current semester in his dorm and move into the warehouse over the summer break. He had explained to his family that he was going to rent an apartment with a few friends, which technically was the truth. His family was currently too concerned with his baby sister's current crisis to worry about if he was telling them the exact truth.

Spike's stash of personal affects only took one trip, something he was both ashamed and proud of. He pushed aside his fears about being caught with his pants down by the people who could be looking for him. Permanence was good. It made it easier for both friend and foe to find him, but harder for foe to catch him alone.

The first thing Spike did after they signed the contact was to contact a small coven with a request on the uninvited spell. They put it on the whole building, making every inch safe from vampire invasion. They also gave him a line on a sanctuary spell that would insure that no demon could commit violence within the building.

Wolfram and Hart, as the largest supplier of such spells, requested an inspection of the premises. Wesley, who would normally conduct such a search, was eyeball deep in a prophecy regarding the next apocalypse. Gunn, the second choice for such a visit, was still immersed in the search for Spike and Fred was visiting her parents in Texas. Hoping that the occupants of the building didn't prejudge all demons, Lorne made his way to the door and rang the bell.

A slightly scruffy man wearing workout clothes answered the door, only raising an eyebrow at Lorne's overcoat-swathed figure.

"Hello, cupcake," Lorne greeted him. "I'm from Wolfram and Hart, here to do the Sanctuary inspection."

The man stepped back and gestured for Lorne to enter, the verbal invitation conspicuously absent. He was obviously long used to the practice of not inviting strangers into his abode.

"Scrumptious place, noodle. Could use a bit more color, though."

"We're working on it. Greg Scales," he offered with his hand.

"Lorne," he replied, shaking his hand before shedding his coat and hat. Greg didn't so much as widen his eyes at Lorne's full appearance, which included a teal suit and lavender shirt. Lorne felt his measure of respect for the man go up a notch. While he knew that not many people had his keen fashion sense, very few could resist commenting on his style.

"This is how this works," Lorne explained to his host. "I ask you a bucket full of questions, you answer them, or not, it's up to you. Based on your answers, I decide whether or not we'll install the Sanctuary spell. Sound like a plan, pumpkin?

"Works for me. You want to meet my… Well, I guess warehouse mates is the best name for them? There's only two here now, Connor's going to move in in a couple of weeks, once his classes let out for the summer. That leaves a few of the suites empty."

"I'll meet them when we come across them, how's that? Now, let's see…" He pulled out the notebook of questions in Wesley's careful script and decided to start at the top.

"I guess the biggy here is 'Why do you want the Sanctuary spell?'"

Greg nodded. "That is a biggy. OK, Lorne, I'm going to be straight with you. My roommates and I, we hunt demons for a living. Mostly vampires, since the others we can never be quite sure are actually dangerous. The only demons we attack are ones we've seen kill, have attacked first, or that we absolutely know are dangerous to the general populace."

Lorne made a few notes on the pad, nodding his head the whole time. "Alright. Apparently, according to my notes, that's a pretty common answer. I'm supposed to question you on a few common and uncommon demons to see if you know what you're talking about."

"Sure," Greg shrugged. "May not be able to tell you if their harmless if you just give me the name, though."

"Perfectly alright, I know enough demons to give a few descriptions. First of all: polgara."

"Let's see, nasty looking things with spikes coming out of their arms, right? Definitely of the bad."

"Arpoc."

"Never seen a live one. My roommate says it looks like green jelly. Mainly harmless if you can avoid it since it's slow moving. Will eat anything in its path. Ah, I'd probably leave it alone unless there was someone in its way."

"Good, good. Obscous?"

"What's it look like?" Greg asked with a frown.

"About two feet high, ten legs, six eyes. Big spider, basically."

"Never seen one," Greg answered with a frown. "So, it would depend on what it was doing."

"Slugoth."

"Extinct, so that's a trick question."

Lorne smiled at him. "Well, you did pretty well. Little advice, though, if you ever see an obscous, say your prayours because they're invisible until they spawn. Perfectly harmless, but the little ones will imprint on anything that has a pulse and is bigger than them. Had a passel following me around back in '95. It was not a pretty sight. Since I couldn't see them, I was always tripping over them.

"OK, next on the list is a tour of the place. Particularly the facilities, if you don't mind. That last sea breeze in the limo has run right through me."

Greg laughed and escorted Lorne to the bathroom. He was sure he only imagined tripping over nothing in the wake of the comedic demon.

Once Lorne had returned, Greg showed him the complete downstairs, answering his questions about what they used the training equipment for. He carefully avoided any mention that two of their group were anything more than ordinary and until they got upstairs, he thought he had been doing pretty well.

On the top floor, they started with the three empty suites. Greg reminded him that their forth warehouse mate was still in college and wanted to finish the semester before dealing with the hassle of moving. He introduced him to Kate, who looked at the green demon in askance but kept her mouth and prejudices to herself. Greg let loose a sigh of relief when they closed the door to her suite.

Greg's room was next, and he opened it to reveal Spike sitting on his couch, playing his guitar. Greg was not upset by this, since he had told his friend that he was more than welcome to use the instrument, but him sitting cross-legged on his couch, with bare feet and a shirt that was only haphazardly buttoned was guaranteed to give the demon the wrong impression.

Instead of commenting on the familiarity of Spike's comfort, the sexually ambiguous demon stared transfixed as Spike began to sing quietly. Greg instantly recognized the strains of _Soul and Inspiration_ and gave an obvious cough. Spike either ignored him or didn't hear him because he just kept singing the song.

Girl, I can't let you do this  
Let you walk away  
Girl, how can I live through this  
When you're all I wake up for each day?

Baby, you're my soul and my heart's inspiration  
You're all I've got to get me by  
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration  
Without you baby, what good am I?

I never had much going  
But at least I had you  
How can you walk out knowin'  
I ain't got nothin' left if you do?

Baby, you're my soul and my heart's inspiration  
You're all I've got to get me by  
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration  
Without you baby, what good am I, oh what good am I?

Baby, I can't make it without ya. And I'm, I'm tellin' ya, honey-you're my reason for laughin', for cryin', for livin', and for dyin'.

Baby, I can't make it without you  
Please, I'm begging you baby  
If you go it will kill me  
I swear it, Dear, my love can't bear it

You're my soul and my heart's inspiration  
You're all I've got to get me by  
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration  
Without you baby, what good am I, what good am I?

Mm-mm-mm Mm-mm-mm  
Mm-mm-mm

Lorne stood through the entire song, gaze riveted on the ex-demon who was waxing poetic. Tears shimmered in his eyes and he put his hands to his chest, clutching the area a humands heart would be.

Greg gave another cough, finally drawing Spike's attention to him and their visitor. The British blonde looked up at them and flushed hotly.

"Um… How long have you been standing there?" he finally asked, nervously playing with the tension knobs on the guitar.

"Long enough, sweet thing," Lorne answered, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief he had materialized from some pocket or other.

Spike shot a glare at his friend. "Coulda gave a bloke some warning," he growled, finally putting the instrument down and rising to his feet.

"I did. You were so busy waxing poetic that you didn't hear me."

Spike frowned at his friend once again before turning his gaze to the demon. "Sorry 'bout that, mate. I'm-"

"I know who you are, precious. Trust me, at the moment I probably know more about you that you do."

Spike's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"I'm empathic. Specifically, I can read destinies, feelings, you name it, when people sing. And you, darling, are beautiful."

Spike shuffled his feet nervously. "You know everythin' about me?"

Lorne nodded, waving a negligent hand. "My dear boy, after that song, you are an open book. I have never felt such pure love coming from someone. Especially someone with your past. And here I thought vampires couldn't love. OK, I admit it; I get taken in by the indoctrination too.

"So, William… I know you prefer Spike, but may I call you William?"

"Spike," the man in question answered neutrally, unsure about whether he could trust the strange creature in front of him.

"First of all, you're doing the right thing. You have a few more tasks, a few more miles to go before you can be together. She does miss you and does love you, though, Spike. I could feel her connection to you, which is unheard of. Keep on this path and you will be reunited.

"Your thoughts on the kid," he waved away Spike's menacing look at the phrase. "I don't know what your thoughts are or who the kid is. Just know your suspicions are on the mark, bubbaloo.

"You don't have to worry about the Council finding you, either. Giles is the new head and keeps them controlled with a tight fist," he revealed the information he had from Wesley. "The Council's changed, and for the better. The girls are allowed normal lives and friends. It's all good.

"There are a few other people looking for you, some of which are the not so nice types. That's OK, you'll come through fine. Well, a bit scraped and bruised maybe, but fine.

"Most importantly, sweet cheeks," the demon continued, patting Spike's cheek in a familiar way. "You don't want the Sanctuary spell. The girl needs a little bit of demon in her man, remember? With the spell, you'd be defenseless."

Spike and Greg exchanged a glance before nodding. "Alight, mate. I just want to know why I should trust you. Sure, you said a lot of things I liked hearing, but that doesn't mean you're on the up and up, if you catch my drift."

"You, Mr. Big Bad, are just a sweet marshmallow. Ask around the underworld, Lorne's never steered anyone wrong. Well, OK, there was that one hasesh demon, but it really was his destiny to die, I just directed him towards the least painful option. I mean, really, if you had a choice, would you choose beheading or to be buried alive?

"Anyway, sweetie, I promise I won't tell anyone else what I read, mystic-client privileges and all that. In fact, my client list is private, if you know what I mean. I'm not planning on telling anyone about this little encounter. Not even my boss."

He looked between the two men and decided that they believed him. Not that he was worried; they wouldn't kill him, but they would leave him tied in a bath tub for a week if they thought he was a threat.

"OK. I think that's all, gentlemen. I'm perfectly willing to approve the spell, but like I said, you don't really want it. So, unless you have some questions, I'll be going."

Greg nodded and gestured for the demon to precede him. Lorne was halfway out the door before he stopped and added one last tidbit.

"By they way, lover boy, you might want to actually look in the mirror today. It's not everyday a person wakes up with a mystical mating mark, after all."

He left as Spike rushed to the bathroom, determined to check to see if the mark he had dreamed Buffy painting was actually there.

* * *

Across the continent, Buffy Summers walked into her kitchen, calling a greeting to her little sister. Dawn smiled back and watched as the scantily dressed slayer reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. She looked better than she had in years. Her face had lost the anorexic look and her eyes had regained a bit out their sparkle.

Dawn took in the workout clothes and raised a brow. "You know, don't you, that we own a self-defense academy, right? An academy that you teach classes at each afternoon and evening, getting a decent workout doing? What are you doing working out beforehand?"

Buffy smiled at her sister and shrugged. "The classes are great, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I just need to go one on one with the heavy bag, ya know?"

"Still no news, huh?" Dawn asked sympathetically.

Buffy shook her head. "Angel said they had a lead, but it dried up. How can a lead dry up? Is a lead made of water?"

Dawn smiled at the asinine question. "Are you sure that Angel is the best person to be looking into this? He and Spike do have a few… Unresolved issues."

Her sister laughed at the expression on Dawn's face. "I talked to Angel about it. He knows how I feel. I've decided that I know who I want to get my cookies and he accepted that it wasn't him." She laughed once again at her sister's confusion to the cookie reference.

"The point is, Dawnie, he knows that this is what I want. If Spike's there, then we'll find him."

Dawn fiddled with her snack for a few minutes. "I… I just don't feel right staying here, being happy and living my life when he's out there. I know he can take care of himself and that he has friends, but he needs us. I need him."

Buffy wrapped her arms around her slender sister and rested her head on her shoulder. "We can arrange for Kennedy to take over the classes at the academy during Christmas break. Do you want to go to LA and look for him?"

Dawn bounced a bit at the suggestion. "Can we? Really?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. It's…ah… Already set up, actually. I decided early this morning that I couldn't wait any longer than necessary and arranged it with Ken. Willow's coming with us, if that's ok?"

Dawn rose and hugged her sister, bouncing with the exuberance of the young. "Why can't we go now?" she finally asked.

"Kennedy has summer session courses and a full schedule for the fall semester and there's no way she can handle the dojo by herself while doing all of that." Buffy said. "And because there's still stuff to do. I'm not sure yet what it means, but in my slayer dreams he keeps telling me that there's miles to go yet. So, I'm giving him a few months to get his ass in gear."

Buffy blushed at the look Dawn sent her. "You really miss him, don't you?"

"More than I ever thought imaginable."

Dawn bit her lip and decided to just ask the question that had been plaguing her for a few weeks. "Wh-what if he doesn't have the soul anymore? If he's the way he was before?"

Buffy smiled in understanding. "I figured something out," she said, playing with a strand of the younger's hair. "Spike loves us. Having a soul doesn't matter. He loves us and soul or no soul, I love him."

Dawn let loose a big smile and squeezed her sister in a death grip. "Yay!" she gushed.

Buffy finally extracted herself from her sister's embrace and made her way back to the fridge. She was glad she had made the decision to return to LA, she thought as she leaned down to snag an apple from the drawer, causing the back of her tank top to ride up in the back. She straightened in shock when her sister voiced another question.

"Buffy, when did you get a tattoo?"

* * *

Spike rested his weight on his arms, taking in the picture presented by the mirror in Greg's bathroom. An image he could not believe. There, on his chest, exactly where his dream girl had drawn it, was an intricate tattoo that matched the lines of paint she had placed on his chest.

"When'd you get a tat?" Greg asked from behind him. The darker man could have sworn that his friend hadn't had a tattoo a few days earlier when they had stripped off their shirts during the move in process.

"I didn't," Spike murmured, exploring the expanse of flesh with his fingers. Deciding that the mirror wasn't sufficient for looking at the design, he bent his head down until his chin touched his chest, struggling to see every inch of the pattern.

"Oo-kaaay. So, if it's not a tat, what is it?"

Spike finally stopped studying the mark and straightened purposefully. "I'm not sure, actually. I need to research it." He started buttoning his shirt back up. "I'm going to head out to do some research," he stated, striding towards the door.

"They have books on mysterious marks?"

Spike laughed bitterly. "If you know where to go, they have books on everything. That or internet sites. I'm going to go down to the occult shop, see if they have anything of use. Probably go to the library, too. I'll be back later."

Greg watched him walk distractedly out before grabbing an object off the table and rushing after him. "Spike, take my phone." He tossed the object to the man now on the first floor, who caught it easily. "Oh… And you might want to put some shoes on."

He smirked as his friend cursed and rushed up the stairs.

* * *

The small occult shop was really nothing more than a hole in the wall. A well-stocked hole in the wall, for those who didn't mind looking through messy piles of books and scrolls. He had become quite familiar with the small store in the weeks he had been in LA. The proprietor was a nice man and had no compunctions about Spike riffling through the books, looking for a particular subject. He almost always bought a book when he came round, so the shop keeper figured it was a good bargain.

"'Lo, mate," Spike greeted as he entered the dusty little shop.

The wiry little man nodded amiably at his customer. "Is there anything you're looking for today?"

"Mystical markings," he answered, quickly thinking of a cover story. _I may not be paranoid, but the guy behind me is_, he thought snidely to himself. "Ran into a bloke with a tattoo that seemed to give him extra power. I'd like to see if there is any way to counteract it."

The smaller man considered this for a moment before leading him through the warren of bookcases. "Try this one," he said, pulling out a faded book. "It's considered the ultimate source for marks. It covers everything from vampire claims to the Mark of the Beast."

Spike flipped through the volume, nodding his head in approval. "That's right on the spot. Thanks."

"Not a problem. There are a few more volumes around, but I think that really is your best bet." At Spike's smile of thanks, the man wandered back to his post, content to leave his customer to his own devices.

Spike browsed through the selections, looking for anything that might be handy to have around the warehouse. They had a few volumes of demon compendiums and he was always looking to improve the library.

As he browsed, he was vaguely aware of the shop door opening and closing a few times. Most of the customers didn't make it past the old-fashioned desk the owner used to hold the cash register. Most likely they were just picking up an ordered volume or placing an order. Spike didn't really care one way or other, but he did like paying enough attention to his surroundings to sense danger.

Which he was why he was startled when he sensed a demon near the back of the store. Tensing, he gripped the long-bladed dagger he kept tucked in the pocket of his duster and got closer.

When he turned the corner he stopped, a little amazed at the demon's appearance. He looked, outwardly at least, like a normal human. His brown hair just brushed his muscled shoulders as he sat on a stack of books, another tome held high before his face. Spike instantly decided that the man wasn't a threat and was going to go about his perusing when the man looked up at him.

"Oh! Hello," he said with a perkiness that reminded Spike of the Buffy-bot. "I did not realize anyone else was here." He stood up with the grace of a warrior before continuing. "Please, do not let me disturb your shopping of the wares."

Spike saw that his eyes were a blue so dark that he could not tell if the man had pupils or not. _Half-breed?_ he wondered, mildly interested in the man-demon he could identify as a demon by smell but not sight.

"No worries, friend. Just heard you movin' around and was curious about who else was here."

"Yes," the man-demon said, giving Spike an oddly wide smile. "I too noticed that someone else was in the shop. When you did nothing to cause alarm, I decided the best course of action was to leave you alone."

Spike went back to browsing the titles of the books, leaving the creature to his own research. After a moment, a soft tap on his shoulder told him that he wanted to talk to him again.

"I'm very ashamed to ask, but my princess had only started teaching me to read the language of this dimension when we parted ways. Would a scholar such as yourself grace me with your wisdom?"

Spike stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious.

"First of all, I'm not much of a scholar. More of a rough and tumble type, if you get my drift. But I can help a bit, I suppose."

The man-demon regarded him for a moment. "You are not a scholar? But you scan the title as if you are familiar with the shelves. You bypass the piles on the floor as if you have done it many times before. Surely you have been in this shop often?"

"Well, yeah," he said. "I come here to do research."

The man-demon nodded emphatically, causing the lock of braided hair to bounce wildly. "So you are a scholar."

Spike took in this logic before grumbling under his breath "Turnin' into a bloody watcher.

"What ya need help with?" he asked at a normal level.

"The peddler stated that this book is a treatise on the habits of the caracash demon. I encountered one last night and need the information in order to be fully prepared to battle it."

"How'd you know it was a caracash?"

The man-demon gave the odd wide smile again. "_Wexler's Demon Compendium_ has good drawings. I showed the peddler the entry and he directed me to this book."

Spike chuckled ruefully. "Don't do ya much good if you can't read it, though. Alright, let's see what it says." Spike took the slim volume and quickly skimmed through it. "Hmm. Where'd you say you saw this demon?"

"I did not say where the encounter was," he answered pleasantly.

"OK, will you tell me where it was?"

"Oh, yes. It was at the beach."

Spike nodded his head. "Thought so. According to this, caracash only come on land to lay their eggs. The rest of the time they live in the deep trenches. They only attack if they're provoked."

"That cannot be correct," the man-demon stated with a frown. "I saw it attack a human."

Spike looked back at the treatise. "A human, you said? Did you see the beginning of the fight?" At the other's negative, he continued. "Was the human a bit smaller than normal with purple dreadlocks?"

"Dreadlocks?"

Spike sighed and quickly scanned the shelves for the book he was looking for. Once he found it he pulled it from the self and skimmed through it before turning the volume to the man-demon.

"Yes," he said with a smile. "That is what the human looked like."

"Right, then. That's a Gnar-krarck demon, which feed on caracash eggs, amongst other things. I'd say she was just protecting her nest. Nothing to worry about."

The other man smiled once again. "I am in your debt then, for preventing me from harming a harmless being. I am the Groosalugg."

"The Groosalugg? Did your mother hate you?"

The man-demon looked at him oddly. "No."

"Then how did you come by the name Groosalugg?"

"I was rewarded the name when I became the champion of Pylea, the demon dimension I hail from. It means 'brave and undefeated.'"

"Pylea, 'ey? Can't say I've heard of it. Must have been a pretty harsh place if you moved to LA."

"No, Pylea is rather pleasant. I was the king until they implemented a system of democracy. I came to Earth in search of my princess."

Spike eyed him. "You mean you gave up ultimate power in a demon paradise for some bint?"

"No, for my princess. But, alas, despite several pleasant hours of com-shucking, she was in love with her boss. I did not want to interfere with a possible relationship, so I left her to make my own way in the world."

Spike's lips quirked at the tale. It did not take a genius to figure out what the word "com-shuck" referred to. The man-demon had heart, that was for sure. And a will stronger than Spike's own. He would not have been able to give Buffy her space if he knew she had been in love with someone else. Or maybe he would have. He hoped he never had to find out.

In his short association with the half-breed, which he had decided was most likely the origin of the creature, Spike had decided that he liked him. He had a naivety he found refreshing and seemed the type to speak his mind. All in all, he decided that the man-demon would be a good partner for his favorite demon-girl and vowed to introduce them. Assuming Anya had survived the fall of Sunnydale.

"Why didn't you go back home?" he questioned.

"Pylea has many warriors that protect the people. One more, even the champion, would not make a difference. Earth has only a few warriors. I can do more good here."

Spike nodded, impressed with the answer. It was a special type of person, or demon, that gave up everything he had ever known simply so that he could try to make a difference. The man-demon was truly a good man.

"Listen," Spike finally said, making a split-second decision. "Why don't you come back with me and meet my mates? We all fight the good fight, too. I can't offer a place in the group, but if Greg likes you, maybe we can all fight the good fight together."

The Groosalugg's brow furrowed. "I do not wish to offend, but I do not believe we are compatible for the com-shuck. Also, I was sure that my princess explained to me that humans, with an exception to something called a 'freaky Mormon,' only took one mate at a time. While I am flattered by the offer, I must decline."

Spike stared at him for a minute before bursting out with laughter. At the man-demon's confused look, the laughter only increased until tears were pouring down his face. When he finally managed to get himself under control, some several minutes later, his ribs hurt from the force of his laughter.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, still struggling with the chuckles that threatened to burst through. "But that was the funniest thing I've heard in a long time." Remembering the man-demon's words, he once again went off into a fit of laughter, the weeks of fear and stress magically melting away under the force of his glee.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Your princess obviously didn't tell you about the complexities of human languages. You see, we're in America," he quickly found an old atlas and showed the confused being the representation of the globe, pointing out the US. " California, to be exact."

"I thought we were in LA?"

Spike sighed, seeing that whomever the Groosalugg's princess was, she had obviously spent more time training him in fashion and "com-shucking" than geography.

"We are. Here, this is LA," explained, pointing to the general area of the city in the over-sized book. "This is California. LA is within California, understand?"

The man-demon nodded, getting the concept.

"Now, California is in the United States of America. Where I'm originally from, the reason I don't sound like the blokes around here, is because I'm from Britain." He moved his finger over to indicate the isle of his birth.

"Ah, I see. So, Wesley was also from the kingdom of Britain?"

"If he talked a bit like me, then yes. British English, the way I speak," he explained. "Is much the same as American English, what people here speak. There are a few differences, accent really bein' the main one, but some words have different meanings. When I say 'mates,' I'm referring to my friends, not my lovers." He closed the book with a snap and replaced it on the shelf. "Understand?"

"I think so," the man-demon answered, brow furrowed. "It seems that my princess did not explain everything about Earth society. I had no idea that humans spoke different languages. It must be very hard to communicate."

Spike shrugged. "Only if you're speaking different languages. Or if you're trying to talk to a woman," he said with a wry grin. "Anyway, what do you say, would you like to go meet my friends?"

Groosalugg's smile returned. "I would be pleased to meet other warriors."

"Right, then. Let me go pay for this and we'll be off."

"May we speak more of human society while we journey?"

"Works for me," Spike answered, handing the volume over to the shop keeper for a tally.

"Ah, Mr. Rochdale, the _Myth of the Slayer_ you ordered just arrived. Would you like to pick it up today?"

Spike nodded. "Yeah, been waiting for that one. Add it in."

After they left the shop, the Groosalugg hounded him with questions about human languages and cultures. Spike regaled him with tales of the people he had met in his travels, carefully leaving out the fact that he had killed most of the people he could tell about. In return, Groo, as he confessed his princess had nicknamed him, told him bits about his home dimension and the creatures he had battled in his quest to earn the title of Groosalugg.

"So, let me get this straight, your title is Groosalugg? Then what's your actual name?"

"What do you mean?"

"What did your dear ol' mum call you when you were a little nipper?" Seeing his companion's look of confusion over the influx of slang, Spike rolled his eyes and repeated the question without the idiomatic phrases. "What did your mother call you as a child?"

"Ah, I see. My owner gifted me with the name Kalverun"

"Owner?"

"Yes, before my princess freed them, all humans on Pylea were slaves. That I was gifted with a name other than 'cow' demonstrated my owner's affection for both me and my dame. Many shunned Rathagack of the Hardgerik Clan for his decision to have me trained in the warrior arts. They claimed that I was unnatural. It was obvious that my dame had com-shucked with a Pylean and that I was the result."

Spike nodded, taking in the information that Groo had given him. He wondered if his companion realized that most likely the reason his owner had "gifted" him with a name and training was because his owner was in fact his father. He decided that he didn't want to be the one to reveal the information to the half-breed.

"Do you know, my princess never asked me that? She just accepted the fact that I was the Groosalugg."

Spike nodded, immediately understanding that Groo's precious princess was probably a spoiled brat who had no thought in her head other than if her hair was mussed.

"Which do you prefer?"

The Champion and deposed king of Pylea considered this question for a moment. "I believe I would like to be called Kal, which is how my dame often addressed me. She only called me Kalverun when I stole _gar-ini_ from the window sill."

Spike laughed. "I understand that, mate. My own mother could trot out my full name faster than I could stuff the pastries in my mouth." He suddenly stopped before opening the door to the warehouse. "Oi! I just realized, mate, I've not introduced myself. Name's Spike Rochdale. William Edward Norrington Rochdale to my departed mum if she was mad."

Kal nodded in formal greeting, smiling at his own memories of his dame chasing after him with a length of cloth that she used to handle hot items. She had gotten fairly good at using the end of the cloth to snap him on the bottom. He had often thought that if battles were fought with such towels, she would surely win the title of Champion.

Spike bowed his own head in response and opened the door to his abode, only to be pushed back from the force of the yells coming from inside. He would have been worried that his friends were under attack he had not recognized Kate's voice and the distinct sound of boiling rage.

"He was a fucking demon!"

Greg's voice returned the comment, giving back tit for tat. "Yes, he was a demon -- a demon that we needed for the spell."

"A spell he didn't even grant us," she snarled. Spike strode into the building and took in the scene. Kate and Greg were standing practically nose to nose. Her face was red with the force of her emotions while Greg's was white in anger. "He knows what we do here, now, thanks to you and your big mouth. He didn't grant the spell so that he and his filthy friends could come here late at night and wipe us out!"

Spike sighed at the comment, understanding at once that Greg hadn't revealed his demon status to the feisty cop. He appreciated his friend keeping his confidences but knew that Kate would have to be told sooner or later. And from the looks of the argument, sooner was better than later.

"No," he interrupted just loud enough to bring the combatants' attention to him. "He granted us the sanctuary spell. We're the ones that declined it."

"Why the fuck would you do that? So that that the Hell Spawn can walk right in and murder us in our sleep?" She yelled the questions, pissed beyond reasoning.

"Damn it, Kate," he yelled back, his temper flaring. "You have got to get over your stupid prejudice against demons! Not all of 'em are the soulless killers that murdered your father!"

"Stupid prejudice? _Stupid prejudice_? All demons are evil."

"Haven't you ever heard that there's an exception to every rule?"

"Demons are evil," she reiterated. "I will never trust a demon."

Spike sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He knew the revelation had to come, but he would have preferred to have done it a different way. "Even me?" he quietly asked.

The question brought Kate up short. Her face blanched white and she wobbled a bit.

"Even me, Kate? Even Connor, the boy you said was sweet? The boy you berated me for just last week because I 'allowed' him to patrol?"

"Y-your not demons," she stuttered, backing away from them in fright. "You're too human. Only vampires look human, and I've seen you in the sunlight."

Spike shook his head and gave a weary sigh. Tired beyond imagining, he flopped into a nearby lounger and pinched the bridge of his nose. A thought went through his head of really turning into a watcher, complete with mannerisms, but he pushed it aside.

"I was a vampire, Kate. One of the worst, for over a hundred years. After I died… Or was sent to a hell dimension, I'm not really quite sure what happened, I came back like this. The reason we refused the spell was because it would have made me vulnerable. It would have made Connor vulnerable. You've been patrolling with us for awhile now, Kate; didn't you notice the speed, the strength?"

Kate backed away from him, betrayal shining from her eyes.

"The truth of the matter is that there are humans that are more evil than some demons. You're a cop, Kate; you've seen the crimes humans are capable of. I knew a young woman that wouldn't hurt a flea who was killed by a gun carried by a human -- a human who killed the love of my life. I've been captured by humans who treated anything and anyone different than them as nothing more than specimen. Don't tell me that all demons are evil and all humans are good, Kate. I know better. It's not all black and white, it's complicated shades of grey and if you can't accept that then I'm sorry."

Kate continued to look at him, the shock evident on her face. Slowly, carefully, she made her way back upstairs, never taking her eyes off of the men she left sitting and standing silently below.

Spike leaned his head back against the chair, letting it flop over the edge. He could hear her cries drifting down from the floor above. He wouldn't be surprised if Greg and Kal could hear the sobs that he swore shook the walls.

Trying to put his own emotions back together, he rubbed his face, idly noticing that he needed to redo his nails. The black polish was chipped in several places, giving his fingers a ragged appearance.

The sound of Kal shifting uncomfortably finally brought him back into focus. Remembering his guest, he lifted his head back up and studied the two men before him. Kal looked as uncomfortable as his movements had sounded, making Spike wince in sympathy. He had asked the man-demon back to the warehouse in order to introduce him as a possible ally, not terrorize him with a bigoted human.

Greg was looking at him with understanding in his eyes. He understood, possibly more than anyone, how much Kate's words had hurt. While they had still not discussed the exact relationship between the ex-vampire and longest-living slayer, Spike had told him Buffy's view that demons, especially vampires, couldn't love. The man had listened to the subtext and understood instinctively that the slayer's attitude had hurt Spike worse than her fists ever could. Part of him thought that that was the reason Spike remained in LA instead of traveling in search of his lost love.

"Sorry," Spike muttered, cocking his head from side to side to try to relieve the tension that was now screaming in his neck. "Greg Scales, meet Kalverun of the Hardgerik Clan, from the Pylean dimension."

The two warriors shook hands and sized each other up, obviously liking what they saw. His duty done, Spike flopped his head back again and listened to the men talk, glad that the two men were getting along. He knew that Greg would accept the Pylean into the fold simply on his recommendation, but the fact that the two obviously got along was a sign of a developing friendship.

He and Greg had argued long and hard about whom was the leader of their little group. Where once Spike valued his autonomy, he had learned while working with the Scooby Gang that he liked not having to make the hard decisions. He was perfectly happy in the role of side kick as long as his ideas were listened to and respected, something Angelus had never understood. He had fought against Angelus' leadership both before and after the soul because the poofter had made stupid choices… Well, OK, that was part of the problem, but the real issue was that the elder vampire had treated him like an idiot.

He heard a door open and straightened his head once again, this time seeing Connor walk in from the outside. The younger man had a habit of coming and working out after his classes. Spike hadn't realized that so much time had passed between the time he had left for the occult shop and the fight with Kate. Or maybe it was that so much time had passed after the argument had ended, he wasn't sure.

Deciding that a spot of violence was just what he needed to relieve the stress, Spike finally rose from the chair and joined Connor on the workout mats. Neither removed boots or jackets before launching at the other. Spike had drilled the concept into Connor's head that during patrol you couldn't stop and ask for time to slip out of your boots. He had demanded that the younger man spar in street clothes in order to learn to move freely in a fight. Even the weight of a boot could throw him off balance if he was not used to sparring in them.

The sparring started out fast and furious, neither giving the other quarter nor asking for it. They fought as if their very lives depended on the outcome. Spike got Connor right off the bat with a spin kick to the jaw which forced the younger man back a step. He recovered even as he was moving, ducking a second kick and delivering his own blow to the bleached blonde's thigh.

The force of the blow was enough to make Spike's leg hurt, but the pain was quickly forgotten in the thrill of the fight. So involved were the two that neither noticed their audience of Greg and Kal, nor Kate standing on the balcony, studying the combatants with a gleam in her eyes.


	5. Heaven and Hell 05

It was late that evening before Spike had a chance to study the book on mystical marks. Taking a hint from Lorne, he scanned through looking for information on mating marks and quickly found the section on vampire mating rituals.

As he read the text, Spike thought back to the first love of his unlife. In retrospect, he mentally slapped himself in the head for thinking that she actually cared for him the same way he had loved her. Sure, she cared about him, but it didn't hold a candle to the all-consuming passion he had had for her. To her he was a pet, a favored plaything. He was comforting and familiar when their little demonic family had gone their separate ways, and she had known that he would never leave her.

Spike hadn't known about vampire claims until over fifty years after he had been turned. Fifty years that he had devoted to his dark princess, been her faithful slave. He had discovered the concept only because they had run across a vampire couple who had claimed each other.

They were so in love, everything he wanted between Dru and him. James and Elizabeth were totally devoted to each other, letting no one come between them. To the young Spike, this was the epitome of love.

He had talked to the pair for hours, finding out how the mating worked, and what changes it caused in them and their relationship. It was a rather simple ritual, all in all. It took no magic, no tricks. A mutual bite and a declaration of 'mine' was all that was required. It was a link that would last forever, connecting the two so that they would know if and when the other ever died.

Ecstatic at the idea of proving his love to his dark princess, Spike had arranged a romantic evening. What better way to become eternally mated than to dine on Frenchmen by candle light and walk along the lighted streets of the city of love?

It was perfect, for Spike, at least. Dru seemed to enjoy the romance of it all, getting a little tipsy, and horny, from the alcohol in her victim's blood. They retreated to their lair where Spike continued the romance, showering her with special gifts he had bought for her. Some part of him had refused to steal her presents, some remnant of William that nagged him now and again.

The fell into bed, frenzied for each other. In the moment of their greatest frenzy, they exchanged bites just like they always did. It wasn't until he whispered the claim of 'mine' that the evening went to Hell in a hand basket.

As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he found himself thrown from the bed, and enraged Dru glaring down at him in all her glory. Blood still dripped from the wound on her neck, giving her an otherworldly look as she hissed at him from her human visage.

"Dru?" he had asked, confused by her reaction.

"Bad, William, controlling my boy. Go away you naughty boy, you are not wanted here."

"Dru, what's wrong, love?"

She glared at him before pulling her dress back over her head and retying the laces. "My Spike loves me, I know he does. But the naughty William was trying to control him. William is not for me."

With that she had swept out of their room, leaving him standing bewildered. It had taken him three months to get her to talk to him again on any level other than the hunt. Almost a year before she allowed him to crawl back into her bed. She never explained her actions, only speaking of that night when she demanded a promise to never do the like again.

It was only now, over sixty years later, that he saw it for what it was. Dru, in her prophetic insanity knew, even then, that he was destined to love another more than he loved her. She had been keeping him safe for the one she would pass him off to.

He wondered now if she knew what would happen when he suggested that they go to the Hellmouth for her cure. If she had sensed the end of their time together. If the mere proximity of his true love was enough to drive her out of his bed and into her sire's.

It was all water under the bridge now. The mark on his chest in no way resembled a vampire's claim, a fact that he was rather grateful for.

Before he could continue his perusal of the volume, a soft knock sounded at his door. Quickly, he closed the book, stashing it in a drawer before putting on his jeans. Deciding his visitor would feel more comfortable if he also wore a shirt, he slipped one on as he called for her to come in, buttoning it even as she eased into his suite.

"Copper," he greeted Kate as she closed the door behind her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Kate shifted nervously, biting her lip before speaking. "I…I wanted to apologize for today. I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have. I love you, Spike," seeing his shocked look, she gave a soft chuckle. "As a brother. To learn that you had been lying to me… That both you and Connor had been lying… It was a shock, to say the least."

Spike sighed and ran a hand through his hair, gesturing for her to sit down.

"Pet, you have to understand, I've only been this way for about three months now. Three months to process the things that happened in 123 years as a vampire and another 26 years from my first life. Not to mention the fact that I lost over a year. I had no idea what was going on in the world, where my friends were, or more importantly, where my enemies were. It's a lot to worry about.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Call me paranoid. Only Greg, and now you, know what I was. Greg has a few more details, but not many. The details of what I went through, what I did as a vampire, are private. Very few are events that I'm proud of, but I'm not like the Great Poof. I don't brood over the things I can't change. I move on, I fight to be better."

"Next you're going to tell me you were cursed by gypsies and struggled for redemption," Kate said sarcastically, remembering her experiences with the one demon, until now, that she wouldn't kill on sight.

Spike snorted. "You've met Tall, Dark, and Forehead, then, have you? No, I'm nothing like Angel. Never was. Truth be told, for the most part I can't stand the git. At various times he's had everything I've ever wanted. He walked away from the gifts life gave him, never looking back, never caring."

"What was it that he had that you wanted?" Kate questioned. "The soul? The tormented good looks? The title of champion for the idiotic Powers?"

Spike laughed quietly. "You really do know him, don't ya? Like I said before, most of it is personal. I will tell you that he made my unlife a living hell, both before, during, and after the curse and re-curse. To say that we have a history would be a bit of an understatement, Copper. Let's leave it at that."

Kate nodded and frowned. "Would you tell me, at least, how you became…Well, not a vampire any more?"

"You're like a dog with a bone, you know that, pet?" he asked with a raised brow. "Probably what makes you such a good cop. If you must know, I helped save the world. I guess those idiotic Powers you mentioned decided that I had done a good thing. I died, for lack of better word, and woke up over a year later, breathin' and heart thumping. Don't know why, not sure I want to."

Kate nodded, signaling that she would accept the answer, for now.

"Now, Kate, I have to ask a favor of you. Don't mention this to Connor. He doesn't know what he is. Hell, I only have a suspicion about his true nature, and I don't want him running scared because he thinks he's evil. I have a feelin' that the kid's been through a lot, even if he doesn't remember it. So promise."

"I promise," Kate intoned solemnly, causing Spike to breathe a sigh of relief.

"We good now, pet?"

"Yeah, I think. I do want you to know one thing, though. Part of the reason I was so upset about the demon that was in here wasn't so much that he was a demon, it was because I had just found out he worked for Wolfram and Hart."

Spike regarded her for a moment. "You know something I don't, pet?"

Kate nodded, a serious expression on her face.

"This something we're gonna need everyone in on?" Another nod. "Can it wait until morning? I think Greg's already asleep and Connor's back at campus. Greg invited Kal over tomorrow to discuss the possibility of joining forces. Don't make that face. You know as well as I do that there's safety in numbers. Kal's a good fighter, I went a few rounds with him myself this afternoon. man's a demon with a broadsword," he quipped, actually earning a smile from the xenophobic cop.

"So, tomorrow, OK? We can all talk about it after we talk things over with Kal. Now, get out of here. I need me beauty sleep."

After Kate left, Spike returned to his research. This time he skipped the section on vampire marks, he knew damn well that that wasn't the origin of the mark. Not that he hadn't wanted to claim his love as his mate. He often dreamed about sinking his fangs deep into her neck, not to drain her, but to whisper "mine" over and over, to shout it from the roof of his crypt, and to have her whisper "mine" in return. It would have been his happiest moment, a moment that would have obliterated Angel's soul in a heartbeat.

But he had never bitten Buffy with more than blunted teeth. He never superimposed a perfect scar, a sign of a careful, loving bite, over the ragged mess made by both his grandsire and bat-faced demon of an ancestor. He had never obliterated the tiny, infinitesimal holes left by the gypsy frill lover when he held the slayer in his thrall. As much as he desired to do so, his previous experience with Dru, and the knowledge that his love would never allow it, kept his fangs retracted.

Instead, he had worshiped the scars with his mouth, trying to ease whatever fears remained. Silently told her he loved her with every gentle nip, every kiss. Slowly, reluctantly, she relaxed under the constant assault of his mouth, no longer flinching when he buried his face near her jugular. She had not shuddered in revulsion when he gently sucked the flesh during their more gentle romps, nor when he savaged it with blunted canines when they were in a frenzy. This show of trust had lulled him into thinking that she had realized her feelings for him.

Later, after Africa, he had been glad he had never tried to follow through with his instincts. While he had not taken his mentor's path of suppressing his vampire nature and instincts and therefore felt no shame for the urge to claim her as his mate, he felt remorse far deeper than shame at his actions both in that small white bathroom and before. He, in his infinite stupidity, had tried to drag a golden goddess into the shadows. Tried to bring her down to his level because he knew he could never achieve hers.

He finally found the information he desired in a small section near the end of the book. The material was sketchy at best, claiming that such marks were the stuff of legends and therefore should be disregarded. The only reason the author had included the information was because he strived to disprove the legend.

"True soul mate marks," the author had written around the time that Spike had been turned. "Are nothing more than romantic fancy. The idea that two souls are so deeply entwined that the beings are able to mark their so-called mate in a dream has born no evidence of being reality. The only two creatures who have ever claimed to sport such marks in the last century were discovered to have paid a hefty sum to a tattooist in order to make the claim.

"The legend of the mark claims that the intricate pattern of the lines would link together in some mysterious way. Perhaps when drawn on paper and superimposed, the lines will spell out the name of the tattooist. "

Spike closed the book and grabbed a pen and some paper. While he was not the artist that Angel was, he was a fair hand at drawing. He had often wished that his passion lay in that direction instead of the poetry in which he had no talent.

With careful strokes, he reconstructed the lines he had drawn just the night before, this time on pulp instead of flesh.

* * *

Kal and Connor both arrived early the next morning. Connor's hair was still mussed from sleep and he looked faintly annoyed at having to get up early on a Saturday morning. Kal was robotically cheerful, bowing his head at the three warehouse mates, causing the beads attached to click together softly. It was a sound Spike was coming to associate with the man-demon.

He idly wondered about the paradoxes that were Kal. His hair was unfashionably long and the braided lock spoke of ritual and status. Yet he wore clothes that reminded him of the outfits the Great Poof preferred when he sported a soul. He actually thought that if the Champion of Pylea were to cut his locks short that from a distance no one would be able to tell the difference between the two men.

No doubt, he mused, the clothes were the result of his princess's influence. Perhaps he was still struggling with his identity, integrating his life on Pylea and on Earth into one amalgamation that would be Kal.

Kate came down the stairs, looking a bit reluctant but not fearful. Kal did his best to make her relax, putting up a cheerful façade and bowing over her hand as if he were Prince Charming come to call.

They quickly got down to business, which consisted of Connor and Greg getting to know their guest. From his vantage point, it looked like Greg was ready to accept the man-demon into the fold and wanted Connor and Kate's opinions on the matter.

Spike could tell that Connor liked the man immediately as they began talking about different weapons. Connor explained to him about how he was building a stake launcher for his latest engineering project, a task that his professor was both intrigued by and wary of. Connor had explained to the man that he had no desire to actually launch pieces of pointed wood at anyone, but that he wanted to work with a launching system in order to further his goal of working at a weapons research lab. That was the story, at least.

Kate was a little harder to bring around, but soon the deposed king had her laughing at stories of the difficulty in assimilating human culture, including his "mates" mistake when he had first met Spike. Both Greg and Spike could soon see that she had put aside her wariness and had accepted Kal as a potential ally if not as a full-fledged friend.

They made plans to move Kal into the warehouse after discovering that he had been living in a loft above a museum's storage space. For a man who had grown up with no running water, plumbing, or electricity, the roof over his head and mattress he had found abandoned there made for a perfect nest. After plans were made and Kal picked out a suite, they ceded the floor to Kate.

She shifted nervously from side to side. She was not uncomfortable being the focus of so many men's gazes, she had learned early on to stand up to her male colleagues or be crushed. What made her uncomfortable was the knowledge that three out of the four men were demons, though only careful observation could identify the signs.

"Um… Kal, I just wanted to apologize for the scene you had to walk into yesterday. I've already talked to Spike about some of this, but he wanted to discuss it with everyone."

"First of all, pet, I probably should fill Connor and Kal in on what we were talking about last night. I'll try to keep it short and sweet while telling as much as the story as possible. The beginnin' of my story started 123 years ago, when I was turned into a vampire."

Kal and Connor looked at him strangely, but kept quiet.

"I was a right nasty bloke, too, let me tell ya. I was known as William the Bloody at one point. I was the Slayer of Slayers. Me and my sire, Drusilla, burned a swathe across Europe in the ol' days. Then, a few years ago, a band of military idiots decided to play doctor with demons – and not in a good way. They put a chip in me head, one that gave be a blindin' headache if I tried to harm humans.

"I was less than thrilled, as you can imagine. Up until that point, I was the Big Bad, then, all of the sudden, I'm the laughingstock of the demon world. I ended up asking the current slayer for help, which she and her mates gave, reluctantly, in exchange for what little information I had on the soldier boys.

"Next thing I know, they're coming to me every time they need a bit of muscle or info. Found myself helping out regularly, got to know the group. That, my friends, was my downfall.

"What's that saying? 'Familiarity breeds contempt.' In this case, with exception of the Whelp, it wasn't true. I, stupidly, fell in love with the slayer. Started helping her just to prove myself to her; to prove that I was worthy of her."

Spike shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "To make a long story short, I ended up earning my soul back, gave my life to save the world, and woke up outside of LA a year later."

Connor looked at the being that had quickly become a big brother to him. His eyes promised more in depth questioning later, an event Spike wasn't really looking forward to. He would have to explain to the charver at least part of his theory about the boy's true origins.

Kal looked basically the same the man-demon always looked: open and honest. "So, you are like Angel?" he asked.

"Not quite," he groused, annoyed with the constant comparison. A comparison he had known he would be subjected to going into the whole thing.

"I thought he was a myth," Greg stated, eyes wide.

"You've heard of him, then?"

Connor nodded. "There are chat rooms dedicated to the legend of the souled vampire. Mostly it's just rumors about sightings and things like that."

Spike chuckled. "I bet the poofter absolutely loves that." He looked them each in the eye, judging their acceptance of his abbreviated story. "Right, then. You're turn, Copper."

The blonde nodded. "It's a bit of a long story. Wolfram and Hart-"

"Are evil," Kal interjected.

"Or maybe not so long," Kate muttered. "How do you know about Wolfram and Hart?"

"My princess told me," Kal explained, his expression open. "I did not understand all of what she said, but I do know that Wolfram and Hart tried to kill both her and Angel many times. She told me that I could not hunt them down to exact my revenge."

"You know Angel?" Connor asked.

"Oh, yes. My princess works for him. He came to Pylea and defeated me in a great battle. He is truly a brave warrior."

"Let me guess," Kate said, a smirk on her face. "Your princess is Cordelia."

"Yes."

Spike groaned and chuckled at the same time. "The cheerleader's going after Peaches? That is too much! She knows his soul's only tied down with a bit of string."

"Love is blind," Kal said patiently.

Spike chuckled again. "Got that right, mate. Got that right. Copper, you were saying?"

Kate shook herself a bit and looked around the grouping. "Wolfram and Hart represent the lowest of the low. And I don't mean just humans. They serve any demon with an evil purpose. From what Angel told me about them, they have an ultimate evil plan, but I never was quite sure what it was. I do know that Angel hated them with a passion."

"And because Angel hated them they are automatically evil?" Connor questioned.

Spike sighed. "I seriously dislike the Poof, both with a soul and without. But he is a Champion for the Powers. If he said they're bad news, they probably are. And no, Kate," he said to the obviously curious detective. "I will not tell you all the little details on why the two of us don't get along."

Kate frowned but nodded, accepting the fact that Spike's private life had a right to remain private. "So what do we do about Wolfram and Hart? About the demon they sent here yesterday?"

Greg shrugged and reasserted his role as leader. "Not much we can do, I suppose. We're just going to have to trust his word that he will not tell his boss. Until we know more about this law firm or until they notice us, we'll just have to keep our eyes open."

* * *

Connor found him again after everyone else had went to sleep. Spike waved him into his room and then settled into his reading chair to wait patiently for the younger man to start.

"I'm as fast as you," he stated. "I'm as strong as you." He paced back and forth in front of the chair. "My sense of smell and eyesight is almost as good as yours, and I think with a little work they can be on par with yours."

"Actually," Spike interrupted, earning a pause in the pacing. "I think with a little work you'll be stronger and faster than any vampire."

Connor dropped into the opposite chair and stared at the floor between his feet. "Is that what I am?" he asked, unconsciously playing with his fingers.

"Seen you in the sun, Charver," he reminded him. Spike focused absently on those hands. He had seen that habit before, knew someone who played with his fingers when he was nervous.

Connor sent him a dark look. "I _meant_, am I like you? Did something happen to turn me human?"

Spike shook his head. "It's possible, but I don't think so. In all truth, I don't know what you are. I have my suspicions, but no proof."

"Go on."

"Do ya remember what Kate said, the night we found her in that alley?"

Connor shrugged. "You thought she was psychic. I talked to her, to try to see if she could tell me anything, but she was just out of her mind with the drugs."

"I don't think so, Connor. I think the drugs allowed her to see things she normally wouldn't have. She knew I had been a vampire but that I had a soul. She said it was effulgent."

"Effulgent?"

"Means 'glowing.' It's not a word people use anymore. Hell, it wasn't a word people used when I was human. But it was a word that means something to me. She's the real deal, kiddo."

"What she said about me doesn't make sense, though."

Spike shrugged. "I had to interpret Dru's visions for over a hundred years. It made perfect sense to me."

"So, what _did_ she say?"

"That whoever did this, took away your memories, did it as an act of love -- an act of sacrifice. I think that whoever did this to you did it because he couldn't give you what you needed."

"What could I need more than my memories?"

"A family. Connor," he said, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "I think… I think that both of your parents were, or are, vampires."

"That's impossible," the boy scoffed. "My parents are Harold and Laura Trent. My younger sister is Emma."

"That's right, that's who your parents are, that's who you remember them to be. Even if my theory is right, they'll always be your parents. They'll always love you, always consider you their own."

Connor snorted. "No, they wouldn't."

"Listen to me, Connor!" Spike snapped. The situation brought to mind his Nibblet's reaction to finding out she wasn't real. "They love you! You love them. Nothin' else matters."

Connor looked sullen for a moment then nodded. "I do love them, even Emma. But, why? If you're right, if I'm the son of two vampires, why erase my memories? And don't give me that family line."

"I'm not sure. I think, possibly, something happened. Maybe something that you, as you were, couldn't deal with. And your father took it upon himself to protect you. Maybe he couldn't think of another way, a way that would keep you with him. Maybe he did it to protect you. All I know is what the cop said, that it was a sacrifice and a gift of love.

"Hell, Charver, for all I know, _you_ chose to have your memories erased." Spike leaned back in the chair and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I can tell you that it took a lot of mojo. Messin' with people's minds is no easy trick. Takes a lot of power to erase even one memory, much less implant false ones. If it was your father that did this, he has a lot of influence."

Connor got up and stalked to the window and crossed his arms belligerently. "Do you know who…"

"Suspicions, Connor. Just suspicions."

"Who?"

Spike sighed once again. He seemed to do that a lot now that he had to breathe. "I'm not going to tell ya, Charver. Not until I know for sure. And I have to find the bloke first. I want to talk to him, tell him my suspicions. For all I know, he could have had his own memory tampered with too and he'll have no idea what I'm talking about."

He stood and walked to just behind the younger man. "I think of you as a little brother," he told him, resting one hand on a tense shoulder. "And I'm going to do my best to find out the truth, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you jump head first into an unknown situation. Trust me on this, OK?"

He couldn't help but give a sigh of relief at Connor's nod. _I'm going to stake the poof for hurtin' him_, he thought.

* * *

Willow looked up from the computer screen she was studying. "Buffy, you said you never saw what the tattoo on your back looked like?"

"Not while he was drawing it. There weren't any mirrors in my dream."

Dawn held up the sketch her older sister had drawn. "And this is what you drew on Spike."

"Yep. Or as close as I could remember it. I'm not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. Remember the paint by numbers fiasco?"

Willow grimaced at the reminder of the well-intentioned Christmas present she had once bought her friend. How the puppies had managed to end up looking like karvlar demons, they had never figured out.

"It's really quite interesting."

" Willow," Buffy mock growled. "You don't have glasses to clean, so just get to it."

Willow sighed and turned the laptop around so that Buffy could see the screen. On it was a digital picture of the small of the slayer's back, complete with black patterned lines.

"Your tattoo," she explained before capturing the inked lines and transferring them to a white background. A few clicks and she had the scanned image of Buffy's sketch on the screen. "The image you said you drew on Spike. If I flip it around like so, then superimpose it on your tattoo…"

"God," Buffy breathed. "How is that possible?"

"Some type of sensory memory, maybe," Dawn suggested.

"Then why would I flip it?" she asked.

Dawn opened her mouth to reply but a furtive kick from the red-headed witch prevented her from speaking.

"I don't think you did," Willow said, ignoring Dawn's glare. "I'll have to do a bit more research to find out what it is, but I think it's kind of like ying and yang."

"Huh?"

"A representation of good and evil, male and female, light and dark; you take your pick. I think the reason your tattoo and the pattern that we assume is on Spike are flipped is because they represent balance."

Buffy still looked slightly confused, so Dawn took up the thread. "You're a girl, he's a boy. You're a slayer, he's a demon. Balance."

"So, you think that the two symbols together mean balance. OK, I understand that. But, shouldn't they link together somehow when they're both the way we drew them?"

"Should," Willow shrugged. "But I haven't figured out how yet. It's more complicated than having matching sides, I can tell you that. And that it doesn't create any of the usual symbols of unity: the ying/yang, Star of David, or Mobius Ring." Buffy obviously had no idea what a Mobius Ring was, but nodded her head as if she did, which signaled to Willow that she could continue.

"What I want to do is send a copy of the drawing and your tattoo to Giles and Wesley. Maybe the combined resources of both the Council and Wolfram and Hart can come up with what it is."

Buffy nodded, giving her permission to do so.

* * *

The Wolfram and Hart demon was quickly pushed to the back of their minds as the nightlife in LA started heating up. The group found themselves covering a smaller area but taking out more demons. Greg gave the order that they split into teams, pairing Kate up with Connor, whom she was less likely to go ballistic on, and himself with Kal, providing each of the normal humans with a warrior partner. Spike was allowed to patrol alone, a fact that their fearless leader was not thrilled about, but the ex-vampire insisted on.

During the day, Kate patrolled the streets in her role as a police detective, using the city's resources to try and find the cause of the underworld's activity. Spike and Kal theorized that it was just a natural tide in the demon population. It was possible that several breeds were in their mating cycle and therefore more active.

While Kate and Connor dealt with their daily, public roles as cop and student, Greg and Spike set up an identity for Kal, who officially became Kal Verun. Spike often wondered why the Great Poof had never done this simple task.

His forged papers intact, they set up a series of accounts for him, explaining the use of American money and debit and credit cards. They filtered a share of their "earnings" into his accounts, much more than the man-demon would probably ever spend considering his habit of buying only the basic essentials to live.

Greg had discovered their new friend sleeping on the floor of his suite two weeks after he had moved in. Exasperated, he had dragged both Kal and Spike out to furniture stores, outfitting the man-demon with a basic set of neutral-toned living room furniture and a massive bed with a utilitarian wooden headboard. The two natives had tried to talk him into something with a little more style, but he had refused, stating that he had gotten tired of opulence during his tenure as king.

Kate, surprisingly, solved their problem of appearing to be on the up and up. In the modern world there was no way to hide the money they were keeping or spending, so they invented Warehouse Security, a fictional company, and several smaller companies that paid them retainers for their services. The detective even convinced a few legit businesses to add their names to the list, adding a level of realism to the whole scheme. The existence of Warehouse Security, with the help of the fictional and real businesses, allowed them to filter the money into their bank accounts with little or no interference.

For the most part, Spike's money, barring the nest eggs he had scattered about the city and his pin money, was placed into an account bearing the name Dawn Summers. The bank was instructed that Spike was looking for the inheritor of the account, who would be able to access the funds on her twenty-first birthday. If he succeeded in his search, she could draw funds before her birthday by showing a financial need or for college tuition. If he had not found her, or was unable to continue the search, they would hire an investigator to continue.

Spike wanted to put his love's name on the account, but knew that the slayer would refuse any such gift. Through Dawn she would have access to the money. He knew the Nibblet wouldn't let her sister starve.

The rest of Spike's earnings were anonymously donated to a local teen shelter, The East Hills Teen Center. He had seen the director coming and going, a pretty woman with blonde hair. His conscience twinged every time he saw her, recognizing an almost victim from his first stay at the Hellmouth. Some little bint who worshipped vampires. Judging from her appearance now, she had learned her lessons about vampires well.

It was three weeks after the empathic demon's visit that the shit hit the fan while on patrol. Greg had paired up with Kate that night, sending the three extra-humans out on their own, each with a separate patrol route.

Spike was heading back from his route when he smelled it: a mixture of Kate's and Greg's blood. Both are smells he had grown accustomed to over the weeks of their friendship as little scrapes were a constant problem. From the amount he smelled, this was no scrape.

A shot of terror-ridden adrenalin rushed through his system, giving him an extra burst of speed. The sight that met his eyes as he rounded a corner was one from his worst nightmares. Greg and Kate lay crumpled on the ground, blood pouring out of various wounds, while a massive demon loomed over them.

The demon was one Spike had never seen before: a large dog shape the size of a horse, with the head of a bat and the tail of a lizard. Definitely not something he wanted to go up against alone. Knowing there was no choice, knowing that he was the only chance his friends had, he growled low in his throat and launched himself at the flank of the beast, taking it by surprise.

The demon whirled on him, the short snout snapping at his side. Uncaring of the danger to his own self, Spike used the only weapon he had, a long-handled knife, to stab at the creature's underbelly, praying the whole time that it contained softer hide than the leather that covered the rest of the beast.

A howl of pain and rage was answer enough. Using his vampire agility, he scrambled up the beast's back, avoiding the constant bites and attempts to throw him off. With his own cry of rage, he plunged the knife into the creature's throat, only to be rewarded with the sound of snapping metal as the knife broke apart.

The demon finally succeeded in throwing him off, slamming his against a large dumpster in the process. He immediately launched back to his feet, clutching the knife handle as if the broken weapon would do him some good. With a snarl, he ran at the demon again, this time catching it by a large ear, which made the creature only more enraged.

Climbing to his feet for a second time, Spike wiped the bloody spittle from the corner of his mouth. He knew he was going to be feeling every hit the next day, but still he attacked once again, praying that he would get a lucky shot.

This time he made it back onto the creature's back. Narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws, he wrapped his arms around the massive head and twisted with all his enhanced might. A loud crack and the sudden slumping of the beast was his reward.

Jumping away from the falling demon, he didn't spare it a glance as he raced to his fallen friends. Both were mercifully still alive, though their pulses were weak. Spike dug Greg's cell phone out from the other man's coat and quickly dialed 911. With assurances that the paramedics were on the way, he left their side for a moment to drag the cooling demon into another alley. There was no reason to alarm the EMTs.

The rest of the night was filled with blurring lights and frantic voices. He managed to get away from the mounds of paperwork the ER required long enough to leave a message on the warehouse's machine, telling Kal and Connor about the demon and asking them to check it out before coming to the hospital.

Two pints of blood apiece, and numerous drugs and tests later, the doctors came to the waiting room to assure the pacing man that his friends would be fine. They both would need a few days in the hospital to recover, but the wounds would heal.

He was allowed to speak to Greg for a moment, both to reassure himself and the patient. The man refused to go to sleep without talking to one of his friends, much to the nurses' dismay.

"There were two demons there," his leader told him in a quiet voice. "The dog thing and another. The other told us that we were to be an example. That we'd interfered with business. Do you think… Wolfram and Hart?"

Spike nodded, his blue eyes icy. "You get some rest, mate. I'll take care of it."

Greg closed his eyes, finally taking the rest his body so desperately needed.

* * *

It had taken some fast talking to convince Kal and Connor that they should stay home when he paid a visit to the LA offices of Wolfram and Hart. Both men were as equally enraged as Spike was and he knew that both of them were an asset when it came to a fight. But, with two of their people down, he did not want to risk the remaining three getting ambushed at their enemy's lair, so to speak.

With promises that he would be back, he left the two men pacing the warehouse, obviously itching for a fight.

With a confidence born of 120 years as the Big Bad, Spike strode into the LA office of Wolfram and Hart just after the start of the business day. The receptionist didn't even raise an eyebrow at the outfit he had chosen for its statement: the outfit of the master vampire he had been. His Doc Martins shined, his red over shirt stood out like fresh blood against the black of his jeans and t-shirt, his long duster flared behind him like the tail of a giant bird of prey. Spike knew how he looked; he had spent years perfecting it.

"'Lo, pet," he said, letting his accent deepen to the drawl he had once used habitually. "'M here to see the boss."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked brightly, not in the least fazed by his attitude.

"Don't need one," he drawled with a smirk. "See, the deal is, you let me see the boss…or I rip your throat out."

The receptionist's countenance never changed, but Spike could hear the sound of the panic button being pressed by her no doubt dainty foot. He couldn't help but smirk as a dozen security guards swarmed into the lobby, making a bee-line for him.

"Shouldn't've done that, pet," he stated before whirling to face the first comer.

For a large, evil company, their security force was for shit, he decided a few minutes later as the twelve men lay scattered at his feet. He pondered that maybe one had managed to get a shot in.

"That wasn't very nice, pet," he told the receptionist, who was looking a bit green around the gills. "'How 'bout' you get your boss down here now?"

The young woman swallowed nervously before picking up the phone and punching in a few buttons. Spike waited, the picture of patience, as she spoke quietly into the receiver before hanging up.

"Mr. Gunn will be with you in a moment, sir," she said with only a slight quaver in her voice.

He gifted her with his sexiest smirk, or at least the one the slayer had informed him was his sexiest. "Ta, pet."

Amazingly, the terrified girl blushed prettily before turning to the elevator that dinged behind her.

The man who strode out, surrounded by another half dozen guards, was not what Spike expected. He was dressed in faded jeans and a pullover shirt, his shaved scalp gleaming darkly in the lights.

"Is there a problem, Michelle?" he asked the receptionist in a deep voice.

"To right," Spike informed the man. "And it's with me."

"I see," Gunn said with a raised brow. "If you will come with me, I'm sure we can work it out."

"Now see, that's just one of the places we have a problem. I'm not about to go anywhere with you, not after what you did."

Gunn looked nonplussed for a moment. "And what do you think I did?"

"You, you bloody wanker, sicked a bloody nevary demon on me friends. I'm just here to tell ya that that was a mistake."

"I see… Mr?"

" Rochdale," Spike snarled in reply, becoming annoyed with the man in front of him.

"I assure you, Mr. Rochdale, my firm has not 'sicked' a nevary demon on anyone, much less your friends."

Spike felt his temper snap. He watched it shatter from a distance, part of him totally removed from what happened next.

"Really," he said coolly, a smirk on his face. Before Gunn or the guards had a chance to move, he had the other man pinned to the wall, a hand on his throat keeping his feet from touching the floor. "Tell me, werebeast," he growled against Gunn's struggles. "What good does it do to lie to me? Do ya know that nevary demons can only be summoned by a very powerful witch? Do ya know that you're that only ones in LA with access to someone that powerful? Now why would ya want to lie to me?"

Gunn kicked at him, the blow bouncing off one thigh. In his enraged state he barely noticed, even with the extra power the werebeast had access to. He vaguely heard the sound of feet running towards his position, but a growl and a tightening of his hand forced the guards back.

"Didn't," Gunn croaked, only to receive a little shake in reply. A little shake that had his head banging back against the wall.

A feminine scream of "Charles!" whipped Spike's head around, allowing him to focus on the coltish woman in a lab coat running towards the two combatants. Spike noticed the stun gun she held clutched in her hand and allowed his smirk free reign.

"Nuh uh, pet," he stated. "I wouldn't get too close if I were you. Never know what an enraged person might do."

The young woman skidded to a stop, the gun held defensively in front of her. "Let him go!" she yelled, her voice trembling through the twang of Texas he could hear.

"No can do, pet. See, lover-boy here set a demon on me friends. Not a nice thing to do now, is it?"

"C-charles wouldn't do that," she stated with a fierceness that could only come from a deep-seated belief. "And even if he wanted to, all decisions have to go through Angel first."

Gunn grunted and kicked some more as Spike turned his full attention to the girl. "Angelus?" he snarled. "Get 'im here. _NOW_!"

The Texan scrambled off to do his bidding, which oddly gave him a jolt of pleasure to know that even if he wasn't a vampire, he was still the Big Bad.

The young woman came back after a moment on the phone, her trembling hand still clutching the taser. "He-he's not in his office," she stated.

"I suggest you _find_ 'im before lover-boy here runs out of breathin' room," he said, tightening his hand on the still struggling Gunn's throat. Long practice allowed him to apply just the right amount of pressure to keep the taller man conscious but immobile.

"But, I don't know where he is."

"I said find 'im," Spike snarled back, increasing the pressure enough to make the man's eyes roll back in his head.

The wispy woman dashed off again, her face bone white beneath her brown hair. He smirked as she tottered precariously on her sensible heels before regaining her balance and scurrying to the receptionist's desk once again.

"Who are you?" Gunn managed to rasp around the hand constricting his airway.

"Someone you shouldn't've hacked off, Were." The man growled something unintelligible in reply, causing Spike's hand to constrict once again. "Should also learn to keep your bloody mouth shut," he warned before easing the pressure slightly.

He sensed his grandsire's approach before he heard or saw him. Felt that particular feeling of blood calling to blood.

"Well, look who's here," he called out before the vampire came around a corner. "If it iddn't Peaches. Come out, Angelus, and tell the class what you've been doing."

"William," Angel greeted, stopping a safe distance from the being he could smell rage pouring from.

"Uh uh, Peaches. Just 'cause you are such a poof as to change your name when ya got a soul doesn't mean everyone is. How'd ya lose it, anyway?"

"Spike," the darker man conceded. "I didn't lose my soul."

The bleached blonde snorted in disbelief. "Nah, really? Ya just work for an evil law firm for the _fun_ of it? Tell me, does the slayer know? Did ya leave her cryin' her eyes out over you again?"

"Spike," Angel tried once again. "Put Gunn down. We can talk about this like rational adults."

Spike finally looked at his sire's sire, noting the worried looks the vampire was casting at the grey-pallored man held against the wall. It was those looks that convinced him that Angel was telling the truth; he did still have his soul.

With a growl, he tossed Gunn aside and launched himself at the creature that had made his life so much hell, first as a fledgling and then as a ghost between him and his loves. Angel did not strike him, only defended himself against the younger's blows.

"You sent the nevary after me friends, ya bloody bastard," he growled as he pounded on the larger demon's chest. "They're in bloody hospital 'cause a ya. I'm gonna rip ya bloody apart," he snarled.

Angel finally threw the enraged demon off of him before pinning him to the floor. Even enraged, Spike was no match for Angel's greater mass, especially when said mass was sitting on his back.

"Are you ready to listen yet?" he asked, twisting a leather-clad arm behind Spike's back. "Dammit, Spike, calm the fuck down! I have no idea what you're spouting off about."

"Big man here said somethin' about a nevary demon attacking his friends," Gunn explained, rubbing his bruised throat while Fred fussed over him. "Tried to tell 'im we didn't do it, but he wasn't in a listening mood."

"May have something to do with the fact that your little company is one of the only ones with the power to call up somethin' that big."

Angel tightened his grip on Spike's arm, exerting enough pressure to make the smaller man stiffen. "And I'm telling you that we didn't," he stated calmly. "Wolfram and Hart hasn't had any underhanded dealings since we took over."

"Or, at least the LA office hasn't," Fred said, squeaking when all attention turned to her. "Well, we don't know what the other branches are up to."

Angel nodded thoughtfully. "Fred, call Wes and Lilah, tell them to meet us in the board room. Spike, I'm going to let you up now," he said, ignoring the glare Gunn sent his way. "We're going to go talk to my staff and sort this out, OK?"

Spike snarled but remained relatively passive once Angel let him go. He sprang to his feet and snarled at anyone who came too close, vampire instincts taking over, making him both defensive of his space and obedient to the elder of his line.

A jerk on his arm forced him to follow Angel into the well appointed elevator. He ripped the appendage out of his elder's arm before backing defensively into the corner of the contraption. Fred and Gunn, the only other two beings in the elevator, stood in the opposite corner, each eyeing him warily.

"We sure this is a good idea?" Gunn asked.

"He seems really upset," Fred added, unconsciously placing the men between her and the danger.

"He'll behave, won't you, Spike."

Angel strode out of the elevator and through the short hall to the meeting room, trusting his employees and visitor to follow. He looked the epitome of calmness but his ears strained for any warning from the being that had once been a childe of his blood. He allowed himself a grim smile as Spike trailed behind Gunn, defensively making sure his back wasn't to anyone he considered a threat.

Wesley and Lilah were luckily already seated in the board room, with Wes obviously trying to ignore the come-hither looks the animated corpse was sending his way. Angel settled into his customary chair and waited for the others to sit before speaking.

"How is it, Gunn," he asked calmly. "That the person you were asked to find came striding into the office on his own this morning?"

Gunn shot Spike, who was standing stiffly in a corner, a glare. "If I knew all it took to find him was to set a demon on him, I'd have done it months ago and saved the man hours my department has been expending."

Angel didn't have time to react before Spike launched himself out of the corner and at the werecat's throat. Both men tumbled to the ground, Gunn getting in a few lucky shots before Spike once again wrapped his hands around the other's throat.

Lilah watched with a raised brow as Angel groaned and stood up. Fred, startled by the attack, scrambled out of her chair and away from the combatants. It was Wesley, with his usual air of decisiveness, who grabbed up a heavy chair and bashed the enraged man in the side of the head.

"That will be enough of that," he stated calmly as Spike shook the stars from his vision. Gunn rose to his feet, hand once again exploring the damage done by the ex-vampire as Fred rushed to his side.

"I take it that you are Spike," the ex-watcher continued. "I do not know what your quarrel with Gunn is, but you will sit down and we will discuss this in a rational manner."

"Rational?" Spike smirked. "I'll be rational when that bloody wanker keeps his trap shut!"

Gunn prepared to tackle his opponent once again only to be held back by Angel's restraining hand.

"Spike, please. Calm down and lets talk about this before someone gets hurt."

The younger man sneered. "Someone's already been hurt, Peaches. And it's your fault!

"And I promise, on my soul, that we did not set a nevary demon on you or your friends," Angel stated calmly, internally praying that Spike would believe him and calm down to a rational manner. He had spent enough time with the younger demon to know that in this mood he wouldn't listen to anyone.

The statement seemed to have an effect, causing Spike to pause in his growling at Wesley. "The demon who was controlling it told Fish that they were to be an example. That we were bad for business."

"That sounds like something Wolfram and Hart would say. I assume you've been patrolling the city and you think that's what pissed someone off." Off Spike's nod he turned to Lilah. "Did Wolfram and Hart summon up a nevary?"

"The LA branch did not," she said conclusively. "As for the rest of the firm…" she gave a laconic shrug. "It's the kind of tactics we have employed before to take care of…nuisances. Minor ones, at that. Did you or your friends annoy anyone?"

Spike growled at her, wrinkling his nose at the decayed stench that came from her.

"Lilah can't lie to me," Angel said, bringing his attention from the walking corpse. "It's in her contract, believe it or not. A contract that she has to follow to the letter."

"It's rather inconvenient at times," she stated, twirling her pen. "I can't even take care of personal business without his approval."

"Considering your 'personal business' is often the undermining of our plans, is it any wonder we don't trust you?" her former lover asked. She suppressed a sigh of sexual frustration. It's not like being dead meant she had no urges.

"Do you know _anything_ about an attack on anyone in the city?" Angel queried.

"No, I don't."

Sensing that Spike was now calm enough to talk this through, he indicated for everyone to sit. Spike settled into Lorne's vacant chair and Angel found himself wishing that the demon would return from his engagement in Las Vegas. He could sorely use his friend's advice on this tangle.

"OK, so, a nevary demon attacked your friends last night. When and where?"

"Near UCLA. I found them around one, about to be eaten."

"And you jumped to the conclusion that Wolfram and Hart were responsible," Gunn snarked, earning a scowl from Spike.

"I have it on good authority that Wolfram and Hart are evil."

"Oh, they were," Fred perked. "But then we took over. We're not evil now."

"Much to my dismay," Lilah muttered.

"My friends, my all too _human_ friends, are in hospital because some pillock set a demon on them. I want to know who."

"We're all human here too," Fred stated firmly. "Well, except for Angel, of course. But we know the risks, what can happen if a demon is sent after you."

Spike chuckled. "You, girly, need to open your eyes. You and the librarian over there are the only two humans in this room. Or didn't you notice lover boy changin' three days a month?" He drew in a large breath through his nose and turned to the stiffened Gunn. "What are you, Were? Some kind of cat?"

He ignored Fred's babbles of him being surely wrong and turned back to his grandsire. "I want the arse who hurt my friends," he stated coldly.

Angel nodded in understanding. "Wes, is there any way of tracking down the person who did the summoning?"

"I believe so, as long as the summoned it within the city limits. The locator spell doesn't range beyond that. I'd better start researching. The trace will get weaker as time goes on."

Wesley stood and nodded to the people in the room before exiting. Spike watched the corpse watch him go, an obvious look of lust gracing her features. The Texan was still shrilling at Gunn.

"I think Spike and I have some private things to discuss," Angel stated, indicating that they should go. Gunn shot him a look that was half thankful and half alarmed, but rose and pulled the girl out with him.

Spike shot Lilah an amused look as she remained sitting. "I think that means you too, zombie."

The animated dead stiffened and glared at him. "I am not a zombie."

"You're dead; you're not a vampire. Makes ya a zombie in my book."

He smirked as she stormed away, muttering about perpetuity clauses and contracts.

"That wasn't very nice," Angel stated, frowning at the shorter man at the opposite end of the table.

"Never said I was nice, mate."

Angel studied him for a moment before speaking again. "What happened?"

Spike gave a laconic shrug. "That little trinket you left with the slayer, far as I can figure out. I thought it had killed me; instead I woke up like this. Don't ask me what I am, I don't know."

The elder nodded. " Willow contacted me when she got your e-mail. I've had Gunn searching for you ever since."

Spike sat down and propped his booted feet on the conference table before speaking again. "Those the blokes in the suits that kept houndin' me? Figured they were from the Council of Wankers, wanting to bring me in to study."

"And so you avoided them."

"Wouldn't you?" the blonde asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't suppose you'll give me your address or phone number so I can give it to Willow, now that I know you are alive. Even more than you were before."

Spike shook his head. "Nope. No offense, mate, but I don't trust your company as far as I can throw 'em. Red has my e-mail. She can contact me that way." He got up to leave, only stopping when Angel's voice cut through the air once again.

"Stay away from Buffy."

The younger demon stiffened and whirled around to face his grandsire, head cocked to one side.

"And what gives you the right to dictate that?"

"I only want what's best for her," Angel stated. "I want her to have a normal life."

Spike laughed ruefully. "So, you make the decision for her, huh? Just like you did when _you_ walked away from her? I'm not good enough so you'll make sure I leave her alone, never mind what she may want. Ever think that she's old enough to make her own decisions in life, Angelus? Or do you think you just know what she wants, what she needs better than her?

"That's your M.O., isn't it, Peaches. Making decisions for people because you know better than them. Is that why you erased you own son? Because it was easier than dealin' with him?"

Angel looked at him in shock, mouth wide.

"Thought I wouldn't know about that, did ya? It's obvious to anyone who spent twenty years in your blasted company. He looks like you, he acts like you, he _smells_ like you."

"You don't know anything about it," Angel snarled, his game face coming forth.

"I don't know anything about it? No, I know about a great kid who's scared shitless because he's stronger and faster than he's supposed to be. A kid who likes 80s rock and is majoring in engineering. Tell me, what was so awful about that boy, that boy that you should have cherished every second of his life, that you had to erase his existence?"

Angel sighed and leaned his head back against the back of his chair. "He wanted to die. There was so much pain, so much confusion. He just wanted it all to end."

Spike considered his elder before asking softly "What happened?"

Angel explained it all. Darla's resurrection, courtesy of Wolfram and Hart, the conception and birth of this amazing miracle, the kidnapping and the efforts he went through to try to get that most precious thing returned. Connor's return and hate of him, Holtz's poisoning of Connor's mind and heart with a single act, the three months he spent at the bottom of the ocean, and the return of his seer.

He told the story of Cordelia's possession, her use and abuse of his son, and the child that was born of their union. The realization that Jasmine was controlling them all, the quest to find her weakness, and the subsequent unmasking before millions of television viewers. How Connor, upset and betrayed, had killed his own daughter before attempting to slaughter a room full of people, a comatose Cordelia, and himself.

Spike had sat down mid-way through the story and watched his grandsire with something akin to pity. The vampire with a soul had been through hell and back for the child he had loved, finally slitting the boy's throat as an ultimate act of sacrifice. Balance. A life for a life.

"He knows," he finally told the elder demon. "He knows that he is the son of two vampires, that his memories were erased for some reason. I told him I had my suspicions about who his father was, but I refused to tell 'im until I talked to you."

"Don't tell him," Angel whispered. "Please. I don't want him to have to go through that again."

Spike nodded his acceptance. "Alright, mate. You have my word. And I'll look after the nipper. I think of him as me own brother, tell the truth. Wouldn't want him to have to deal with all that. But, you have to stay away from him. And keep your nose out of my personal business. The second Buffy tells me to get out of her life, I will. You have no say in the matter."

Angel nodded, accepting Spike's words and promise that he would obey the slayer's will. He silently watched the younger man leave the conference room, feeling oddly disconnected from the world. With a sigh, he straightened his shoulders and reached for the phone. If he was lucky, he would catch Willow before she left for her first class.


	6. Heaven and Hell 06

**Notes:** Literary license is a good thing. You can use it to make characters come back from the dead! Ain't it great?

* * *

"So," Connor said as he threw a peanut up into the air and caught it in his mouth as it came down. "Just because Angel said that he didn't do it, we believe him?" The group was enjoying a rare night off from patrolling, celebrating their friends' release from the hospital with a night at a bar.

Greg took a sip of his beer before answering. "No, but we do trust's Spike's judgment. If he thinks that Angel's telling the truth, then we leave Wolfram and Hart alone."

"And if he's wrong," Kate piped up from across the table as she sat with her cast-encased leg propped up in a chair. "We get to rip both him and Angel to pieces." She sent a sly look at the glaring man in question and laughed.

Greg turned his attention to her. "Kate, you've had dealings with Angel before. What's your opinion?"

The detective sighed and took a drink of her own beer before answering. "I researched who he was before the soul. He was vicious. He killed people for the sheer pleasure of it. But then, when he first came to LA, he brought a serial killer down and helped me catch a mob boss. He saved my life."

The group looked at her with interest, waiting for her to continue the story.

"When I was first suspended, way back before the weirdness that happened last year with Jasmine, I was in a bad place. I mean bad place. I took a whole bottle of pills and swallowed them. Angel found me in time to help me." She shifted a bit, trying to either squirm out of telling the last bit of the story or to find a more comfortable position for her leg. "Thing is, I had never invited him into my apartment. He shouldn't have been able to save me."

Spike raised an eyebrow at the tale, but decided to remain quiet. It was obvious that Kate had experienced some type of renewal of faith from the event and Spike did not want to disillusion her by suggesting that her door mat may have said "Come in."

"Rex?" Spike prodded Kal, the nickname referring to his previous experience as a king. His previous experience with Angel could provide another angle to study the problem from.

"Angel is a Champion," he stated simply, sipping at his glass of water. They had tried to get him to drink something stronger, but he had refused.

"Connor, what do the chat rooms you mentioned say about him?"

The teen shrugged. "Like I said before, it's basically sightings and rumors. Every once in awhile someone will pop up with a story of being rescued from something or other by him. I also met a guy who claimed that Angel and another guy actually came to him for information."

"So nothing much on that front," Greg concluded.

Connor nodded before throwing another peanut into the air.

"Seems pretty conclusive to me," Greg said. "We trust Angel."

"For now, at least," Spike cautioned. "Wanker has always looked out for number one. It's the vampire way of life, so to speak."

They drank to the agreement and settled down to enjoy the night.

An hour later Connor had persuaded a little brunette out onto the club's dance floor where the two of them were gyrating to the beat. Kal had gone to refresh his glass of water and had been waylaid by a woman he was too polite to blow off. Spike was visiting the bar while Greg and Kate remained at the table.

"Do you," Kate started out of the blue before cutting off.

"Do I what?"

"Do you ever get a bit jealous of them?" she asked, waving a hand around the club.

"Of all the people who live their life in ignorance? No, not at all."

Kate shook her head sadly. "No. Spike, Kal, Connor."

Greg looked confused as he asked why.

"They're…" she tried to explain. "They're born for this. They really make a difference out there."

"So do you," he stated confidently.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Not like them. Not like you. You're all warriors. I'm just a dumb cop who didn't have the sense to run when she had the chance."

He regarded her as he drained the last of his bottle of beer. "Do you really believe that?" At her nod he sat forward in his chair. "Listen, Kate, to them, this is just what they do. They have the power to make the world different and they choose to try to make it better. Yeah, they're special. But you, Kate, you and me, we're extraordinary. We're not strong or fast, not like them. But we still try to improve the world. That takes more guts than any of them will ever know."

Feeling that he had been insightful enough, Greg grabbed his empty bottle and stood. "Want another?" he asked, before trotting to the bar to order another round of drinks.

"She better?" Spike asked, appearing beside him.

"You heard?"

"I suspected. It has to be hard on the two of you, especially after gettin' hurt like that. Figured you were the one to talk to her about it."

"I'll think she'll be OK," he stated, accepting the beers from the bartender. "She just had to be reminded that she does make a difference. Have you heard from Buffy?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"No," the former vampire said with a slightly dejected look. "Red finally e-mailed me back. She said that Buffy and the Nibblet were fine and asked for the phone number. Said that the slayer would call me when she figured out what to say."

Greg looked at his friend in sympathy before offering him Kate's beer. "You look like you need this." After relinquishing the beer, he indicated to the bartender that he needed another.

"Did she tell you about any of the other people you were worried about?"

"No, just Buffy and Dawn. The fact that she answered tells me that she's still alive. I can only guess about the rest."

Greg nodded in understanding. He knew how hard it could be to lose friends. He was about to offer sympathy when Spike suddenly stiffened beside him. "What's wrong?"

"The chit Copper's talking to," the man snarled, stalking towards the table.

Greg looked over at his female friend and her new companion and saw nothing to worry about, but trusting Spike's instincts, he quickly followed in the wake left by his passing.

"So," the strange woman was saying to Kate. "You sometimes feel like you're less than your friends?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I just wish I-" The rest of Kate's words were cut off by the hand a glaring Spike held over he mouth.

"Don't say another bloody word, pet," he growled as he continued to glare at her companion. Sensing trouble, Connor and Kal quickly joined them.

"William!" she cried happily. "I thought you were dead. How marvelous to see you -- and alive, too!"

"Halfrek," he greeted coolly. "Last I heard, you were a memory too, pet."

"Oh," she said with a little shrug and dismissive wave. "You know how it is. D'Hoffryn wanted Anyanka to suffer, so he made her think that I was dead. It was dreadfully boring being cooped up in Arashmahar while we waited for the assassins to deal with her. Imagine D'Hoffryn's annoyance when she ended up dying while saving a monkey. And not even that pathetic flesh-bag she almost married. He was so mad he actually had her summoned back to life."

"Really?" he asked with a grin that made the vengeance demon simper. He sidled closer to her, projected an aura of attraction. "And then he killed her himself, I suppose."

"What would be the fun in that? No, he's exacting his own justice, making her witness the death of the people she sacrificed herself for over and over. Justice is what he is the lord of it, after all." Smiling coyly, she leaned over and fingered the edge of Spike's duster. "Tell me, William, do you still write poetry? I would love to hear it."

Spike gave her his most charming smile as he leaned down as if to kiss her. Before she could react, he had one hand firmly wrapped around her throat and the other around the gem that was her power center.

"And here I thought my poetry, that I, was beneath you," he stated, sneering at her demonized face. "Interesting, that. It took me awhile, after that party that you cursed, to figure out who you were. Tell me, _Miss Underwood_, what kind of justice is there for a bitch that rips a man's heart out and cruelly laughs at him? Maybe makin' her the pathetic human that she was when she declared I was beneath her?" His hand tightened threateningly over her power center, causing her to cease her struggles. While she was much stronger than him, she could not risk the power center he held firmly in his grasp.

"I liked you better as a vampire," she snarled, trying to suppress the fear that coursed through her veins.

"You should," he said, bringing his face close to her. "Since you're the reason I was one for 120 years. Tell me, Cecily, did you not notice that poor, pathetic William disappeared after you so cruelly put him down? Of course not. You were just relieved that he wasn't spouting _bloody awful poetry_ anymore."

He gave her a vicious shake and smiled at the stench of fear that rose around her. "You know, I still have a lot of frustration when it comes to you. Would you like to see how I earned my nickname? Mr. Ashton gave me the idea, actually. He said he'd rather have a railroad spike through his head than listen to any more of my poetry. Imagine his surprise when I found him a few days later and obliged him."

He leaned close to her and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. "I looked for you after that night, to show you that I was no longer beneath you," he purred. "And now that I've found you again, I can show you." He gave a vicious grin as her smell changed from that of fear to that of arousal. He heard Connor make a disbelieving noise as the teen smelled the same thing and could only grin wider.

"I'll start by crushin' this little bauble," he told her calmly. "I don't have any railroad spikes, but I'm sure I can improvise. I was never the artist Angelus was, but I should be able to keep you alive for a few days, at least."

The scent of fear returned and Spike drew it in, pleased with the result of his threat.

"Here's what you are going to do, pet. You're going to grant me a wish for old time's sake and then you are going to bugger off. You'll tell your boss that if I see you or any of your co-workers around me or mine, I'll deal my own brand of vengeance. That's nothing you want to see. Do you understand me?"

She nodded frantically, extremely grateful that she could not die of suffocation and that he was letting her off as easily as he was. A simple wish to return him to his vampiric self, since she was sure that was what he would wish for, and she's be gone. Well, maybe she'd stick around to see if he had a smattering of interest in her when he was once again soulless.

"I wish," he said into her ear. "That Anya was alive, human, free from D'Hoffryn's ire, and standing beside me. And no tricks!"

Regardless of the hand clutching her necklace, Halfrek squirmed franticly. "No," she gasped. "You don't know what you ask. D'Hoffryn will kill me."

"Far as I'm concerned, you're already dead, remember? Do it. D'Hoffryn will understand when you explain to him that after I'm through with you I'll start summoning your sisters. One will grant my wish…eventually."

She nodded weakly and whispered the word that would end her life. "Done."

With a flash of light, Anya appeared on the ground beside Spike, naked and cowering. Her hair was ragged, hanging at various points half-way down her back and as short as to her shoulders. Her body was bruised all over and she shivered from cold and shock. Kal, ever the gentleman, quickly wrapped his own coat around her and lifted her into his arms. She struggled briefly before the fight went out of her and she lay silent and trembling.

Spike nodded in satisfaction before turning cold eyes back to the vengeance demon that had been the girl's friend. "Leave," he snarled before throwing her away from him.

So terrified that she forwent her usual dramatic arm waves, the demon disappeared in a flash of light, leaving a deathly silent bar behind.

Spike let loose a sigh of relief as she left and turned to face his curious friends. Greg and Connor stood side by side, protecting his back and the vulnerable Kate balanced on crutches. Kal stood holding Anya, who had graduated to small whimpering noises. They all looked at him with questioning eyes.

Taking the shivering woman from Kal, he shook his head, indicating that the questions could wait until they returned to the Warehouse.

After settling the mercifully asleep Anya in his own bed, Spike rejoined his friends downstairs, making sure to leave the door to his suite open so that he could hear any noises the young woman made.

"Care to tell me what that was about?" Greg questioned, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

Spike ignored the question in favor of the bottle of bourbon he had stashed behind the cheesy chips. He retrieved five glasses and poured a measure into each before flopping into a chair and taking a gulp of his own burning liquid.

"That… That was about saving a good person from being tortured for an eternity." He quickly explained Anya's role as a vengeance demon and her subsequent humanizing, return to demon-hood, and voluntary reversal. He told him the little he knew about Anya's death and rebirth, finally adding that she was a good friend and that they could trust her.

"She's a demon," Kate pointed out, still a bit quick to judge those she did not know.

"Was a demon, Copper. She's as human as you are now. Speaks her mind and is a devil when it comes to money. She's fiercely loyal and will do anythin' for her friends."

He looked at each of his friends in turn, silently telling them that he was just as fiercely loyal to his friends and would do anything for them. Anything but send a broken Anya away.

* * *

She stood at the end of the platform and looked down at the swirling vortex below. Her sister stood trembling in her arms. She knew what she had to do. It was the thing she had done a thousand times. "No!" her sister screamed as she ran off the tower and dove into the portal…

She looked in shock at the blood on her lover's chest. So much blood. Where had it come from? "You're shirt…" she said, feeling herself fall. Her lover screamed, her eyes turning black…

Pain. That was all there was. She hung limply from the large cross, bound by thick chains. The being before her laughed as he hefted the ax he had used to separate her arms and legs from her torso. She had no idea why she was still alive, still awake. The last thing she saw was the ax swinging towards her neck…

She was driving down the interstate, singing to the radio. Today was her first day of her fall break and she couldn't wait to see her family. She missed her sister and friends too much to describe. She had no time to react when the eighteen wheeler slipped on the wet roads, plowing into her little car…

She stood over the graves of her friends. Her family. All buried in a private plot. Even Tara's remains had been retrieved from Sunnydale. A plot maintained by the Watchers Council and kept "vagrant" free by the slayers. She never expected to be the last to survive. She was the normal one, the human one. She had no extraordinary powers. Yet here she was, the only one left. Sad, she turned from the graves and walked out of the plot. She was only feet from her car when the demonic face appeared. Her hand was on the door handle when the vampire ripped into her throat…

Anya woke up screaming, the images of her dreams playing over and over in her mind. Dead. All dead. She had experienced every death, every possibility of death, several times. She had still not lost the ability to scream.

"Shh. It will be all right," a quite voice said from beside her.

Reacting instinctively, she whimpered and curled into a ball. Maybe if she was a smaller target then D'Hoffryn wouldn't hurt her as much. Maybe he would forget her.

"Spike has gone to acquire some clothing for you to wear. He said you would not appreciate wearing someone's cast offs."

She remained huddled, but twitched when she heard Spike's name. It was more torture that D'Hoffryn had come up with, some new game. Spike was dead. Her former boss had made her experience his fiery death often enough for her to know.

"I am Kal," the voice continued. "I am the Groosalugg of Pylea. In my home dimension I was an unbeatable warrior. They made me king."

She tried to curl into a tighter ball. D'Hoffryn enjoyed his games. He knew that Pylea had been one of her favorite dimensions to visit. It was one of the few places where she did not have to work. Pylean women were more than capable of wrecking vengeance without help. And the lifestyle had reminded her of the time before she had been raised to demon status.

"My full name is Kalverun of the Hardgerick Clan, Groosalugg and Champion, King of Pylea. Only, Pylea is a democracy now."

He had done his homework. D'Hoffryn knew that Pylea is where she had escaped to after the wedding that wasn't. She had discovered that the newly democratic kingdom had changed much in the few years since her last visit. No longer were there humans in chains, but ones that had formed a bureaucracy -- as if their involvement in the government isn't what led the humans to be banished in the first place.

"Please, do not be afraid."

She felt him touch her and reacted out of sheer instinct and terror. She grabbed the hand that rested on her shoulder and sank her teeth into it, feeling grim satisfaction when she tasted blood. Not waiting for the slap that was sure to follow her audacity, she scrambled from the bed and stumbled across the room to a corner. With her back protected, she curled her legs up and rested her hands over her head, waiting for the blows that would rain down.

By the bed, Kal cursed softly, an event that owed a lot to his British friend. Before meeting Spike, he had not known many Earth curses and those that were the worst insult on Pylea held little or no meaning on Earth.

He sucked on his wounded hand as he watched the terrified woman in the corner. If she could have seen him, his princess would have surely scolded him for putting his "dirty" mouth on an open wound. He never could adequately explain to her that his saliva had healing properties in it. Or maybe he had and she had still found it gross.

Once the bleeding stopped, he took his mouth off his hand and examined the purpling flesh. It would leave a scar, yet another mark that told of his battles. A battle scar was the mark of a true warrior, though he thought that this one would prove the more interesting if commented on.

He flashed back to his dame approaching a wounded karnosh when he was but a child. Karnoshes were fierce quadrupeds that lived on Pylea. They were very hard to tame and dangerous when wild. He and his mother, while walking to the market on an errand for his master, had found one by following the trail of its bright green blood from the path to the market.

They had both known the danger presented by a wounded beast, even before they saw that the creature was a karnosh. But their natural human curiosity had egged them on. It was a trait their master had actually indulged.

His dame had cautioned him to stay well behind her and slowly approached the beast. She paused between every cautious step, speaking in a soothing voice to the karnosh the entire time. After what seemed like a very great time, she was close enough to see that the creature had been wounded by a drakkon, a distant cousin to the drokken. It must have run a long way to escape the beast. Drakkon were not native to the area.

Pomegranate, his dame, had eventually managed to touch the beast, soothing it with both her words and hands. Between the two of them they had carried it back to their master's hut and his mother had worked her healing magic on it. Rathagack had been very upset with his dame for putting them both in danger, but in the end had given in to her whim to heal the creature.

His master had praised her whim only months later when he learned of the fierce loyalty and protectiveness of a karnosh. The young Kal had been playing near the running water with the karnosh while his dame beat their master's clothes against the rocks. A senih'd demon had attacked the playing boy and relatively small karnosh. It was the karnosh that had defended Kal and Pomegranate, driving the larger demon away. The karnosh became a valued creature after that, trailing Kal wherever he went until the point of his death, when Kal was but ten winters old.

Speaking in the same low voice his dame had first used on his childhood companion, Kal told the trembling Anya the story of the little demon's bravery and of their many adventures together. He was never quite sure if it was because he was caught up in trying to soothe her or if she was just the person he was destined to talk to, but soon he found himself telling her about Rathagack and Pomegranate.

"I know he was more than just my master, of course," he told her, keeping his voice even despite the sad memories he was being subjected to. "But we lived far from the other members of the Clan and I did not often see how the other cows were treated. To me he was always my master, nothing else. It was only after he died, which was before my voice dropped and the hair grew in my manly areas, that I learned how unusual his treatment of me was.

"He trained me in the early years of my life, you see. That was against the Covenant's Law, to train a cow in the warrior arts. When the rest of the Clan came to take us, after he had died, I quickly learned to keep my head down and my thoughts to myself. I ground my teeth against the slurs made to both me and my dame. It wasn't until one of the other members of the Clan, a distant cousin of Rathagack's, I think, tried to force my dame to do what she had willingly done with our master that I rebelled.

"A half-grown cow, even one with training, should have been no match for an adult member of the Clan. Perhaps it was my rage that fueled me. I defeated the cousin, and the one that came to defend his honor. That was when the elder of the Hardgerick Clan noticed me. She was a rare female, indeed, to not sever my head from my neck the instant I touched one of her offspring. Instead, she sent me to a local tournament and wagered that I would beat any comer. From there she and I traveled, looking for contests of skill. Soon I had caught the eye of the Covenant of Trombli. They declared me the prophesized Groosalugg and their champion.

"I went from being an outcast half-breed to the most powerful warrior on Pylea. As such, my dame was honored and revered. She was taken from the Hardgerick Clan and given a small farm of her own with servants and slaves. I visited her right before I made the journey to Earth. She told me to follow my heart, as she did when it came to Rathagack so many years ago."

He glanced over at Anya to see if she had calmed down at all and found that she was asleep. Using every skill ever learned as a warrior, he gently lifted her and placed her back on the bed, oddly grateful that Spike had thought to place a shirt over her nakedness. Surely it was wrong to even think about com-shucking with anyone but his princess.

Confused, he retreated to the chair beside the bed and wished that Spike would return.


	7. Heaven and Hell 07

Spike hurried into his suite, his superhuman hearing easily picking up the sounds of Anya's whimpers. She crouched, huddled on the bed, while Greg sat nervously in the chair.

"Where's Kal?" he asked, dropping the bags and rushing to the bed, only to feel the pain of Anya's nails raking his skin. He ignored the small sting and gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly and rocking back and forth. Instinctively, he started humming the tune that he had alternatively loved and hated: the folk song his mother had once sung to him so often.

"He went to bandage his hand. Apparently, her teeth got a hold of it earlier. She woke up just a minute ago screaming and then started with that."

Kal came bustling in as Greg finished his tale, his hand now sporting a white bandage. Spike could smell the residue of blood coming from the wound and wondered what had happened.

"She woke up?" the man-demon asked as he slowly approached the bed. "I apologize, Spike. I only left for a moment."

"'Salright, mate. What happened?"

Kal succinctly explained the events that had occurred the last time the traumatized ex-demon awoke and his leaving Greg with her for the few moments it took to bandage his hand. Greg, their fearless leader, took the opportunity to slip out of the room, determined to head for safer ground. His own face stung from the slap Anya had delivered when he tried to calm her.

"Shhh. Anya, it's OK, pet. Spike has you now," the man whispered, rocking her frantically. Her only response was to whimper and push ineffectively at his restraining arms.

"My tale of Pylea seemed to calm her before," Kal ventured, worry evident on his face. "Perhaps another tale will have a similar effect?" Spike nodded his acceptance of the plan and continued to rock the young woman as Kal told the story of his hunt for the mogfan beast that had terrorized the scum pits of Ur. He told the story with the flare of someone who had grown up with an oral tradition.

Anya started to calm, much to Spike's relief.

* * *

Two days later found Spike entering his suite once again, this time returning from patrol with Greg, Kal, and Connor. Kate, banned from helping due to her broken leg, had taken over the duty of watching Anya during the nightly rounds. The ex-demon had calmed greatly in the few days since her rescue, though she was still prone to nightmares and refused to speak. He often worried that she was broken. That the trauma of returning to life and being tortured was too much for her human psyche and that she would never recover.

That was the main reason he didn't e-mail Willow the second he had her safe. Not because he thought that they would not want to let the young woman go, but because he didn't want them to have to deal with the chore of nursing her back to a healthy mental state or to make arrangements for her care if she was too far gone. Their brief experience with a hallucinating Buffy had nothing on his years with his dark princess. He knew how to care for his friend and was more than happy to do it until she showed improvement.

Until she could make the decision on her own or it became impossible to keep her presence from the Scoobs, he was determined to keep her a secret.

"Copper," he greeted Kate as he entered his bedroom. She looked up from the book she was reading aloud and smiled.

"She's been quiet all night," she stated, closing the book but keeping the same tone she used when reading. Tonight was a continuation of _North and South_, just one of the many books he had picked up from the library in an effort to stimulate Anya's mind.

"No nightmares?"

"None," she confirmed, much to Spike's relief. If the girl could go for four hours without screaming herself awake, it was a good sign. "You have received a few hang-ups, though. Whoever's doing it asked me who I was once and hung up right after I told her."

"Her?"

Kate shrugged and nodded in greeting to Kal, who had just come into the room to check on Anya. The half-breed's natural empathic tendencies made him a bit of a worry wart when it came to the girl, but Spike didn't complain. It kept the man from bugging him about going back to Wolfram and Hart and asking after his princess. He had been most upset with Spike when he had first learned of the blonde's meeting with Angel and the news that she was seriously ill. He had started a campaign to get the ex-vampire to return to the law office in order to ask after the girl, oddly reluctant to do so himself.

"Rex," Spike greeted, moving from the edge of the bed so that his newest friend could check on the young woman. Kal nodded in return, his eyes questioning Spike on Anya's progress.

"Copper says she hasn't woken up since we left," he told his friend, as he helped Kate to her feet. She had gotten pretty good at maneuvering with her crutches, but still struggled with getting out of chairs.

"That is good," the man-demon intoned as he smoothed the covers. "Perhaps the trauma she has experienced has started to fade."

"We can only hope," he stated, nodding to both of his friends as they returned to their own suites.

Alone with his favorite ex-demon once again, Spike kept up a bit of idle chatter as he retrieved his pallet from the closet. He was sure the couch would be more comfortable than a few blankets on the floor, but it was also farther away. Precious seconds would be wasted in the trip from his living room to the bedroom if Anya woke up screaming, like she did most nights. So he made do with the floor.

"Most people," he chattered, despite the fact that she was asleep. They tried to keep a constant stream of conversation directed at her, hoping that she would respond. If someone wasn't talking or reading, the radio or TV was playing, providing constant background noise. "Would think that a vampire, newly restored to the land of the living, would have trouble adjusting to a daytime schedule. I've been followin' a human routine for years, though. Since I started in with the slayer and her chums. Got used to sleeping at night, especially when it gave me a chance to sleep with her in my arms. But, that's not a good subject to follow now, is it?"

He nattered on for a few more minutes, arranging his bed to the way he liked it, and was about to turn on the little clock radio by the bed when the phone rang. The harsh noise caused the sleeping Anya to jump slightly, and Spike quickly grabbed it up before it could ring again and wake up his friend.

"'Lo?"

"Who's the harlot?" a familiar voice asked abruptly, causing Spike to stiffen.

"Nibblet?"

"Who's the tramp that answered your phone, blood breath?"

Spike frowned into the phone, completely confused by the series of questions. Why in the world would Dawn think that Kate was a tramp?

"A friend. Daw-"

"'A friend.' You have '_a friend_' in your apartment at all hours of the night? When you marked my _sister_ with some mystical soul mates mark? You lousy, dirty, despicable, vile _demon_! Buffy cried herself to sleep because when she finally built up the courage to call you, you were too busy with your floozy to answer the damn phone! While my sister has been pining after your ass for over a year, you've been fucking some _cheap whore_!" Dawn's voice had steadily risen until she was screaming into the phone, causing Spike to hold the receiver away from his ear or risk damaging his sensitive hearing.

She stopped, panting for breath, and Spike charged into the temporary silence. "Dawn, Kate is a friend. That is _all_ she is! A friend! How could you think I'd do that to your sister? After everything I've been through for her?"

"You cheated on her with Anya; you tried to _rape_ her!"

Spike winced at the reminder of his past actions, the brutal and desperate attack on Buffy when he had tried to reach her the way Dru had taught him to respond to her dark moods. At first, even with the demon flooding his body with bravado and power, he had been horrified at the idea of using force on the delicate creature that had made him. It was only under her continued assault that he had given into the demon's baser urges, feeling horrified even as his princess had screamed with pleasure.

"I don' want to talk about that," he stated with as much calm as he could muster, settling onto the floor and leaning his head back against the nightstand that held the phone base.

She snorted into the phone. "You can't just Luke and Laura it, blood breath. This is real life."

"I'm not sweeping it under the rug, damn it. It's a private issue between me an' the slayer. I don't know how she managed to forgive me, but she did. I'm not goin' to talk about that night to anyone but the big sis. An' then only if _she _brings it up. And how the bloody hell do you know who Luke and Laura are?"

"Janice," she answered. "What about the thing with Anya, huh? It stopped being private the instant Willow hacked the nerds' cameras and we all saw you making the beast with two backs right there in the Magic Box. And now you're doing it again!"

Frustrated, he lightly banged his head against the nightstand. "First of all, Platelet, if you do have a camera here, then you know damn well that I haven' been sparkin' anyone. Secondly, your big sis had stated in no uncertain terms that we didn' _have_ a relationship when that thing with Anya happened. While it was a mistake, I was not cheatin' on her."

He took a deep breath to get his rampant emotions under control. "Now," he said, thankful that Dawn had launched another tirade in the silence. "Now, the reason I didn't answer the phone is because I bloody well wasn' here. Kate was lookin' after something for me while I was out making the world safe for puppies and idiots. If you or Buffy had bothered to talk to her for a minute, Copper would have told you the same. But no, you had to hang up after hearing a woman's voice! I am capable of being friends with a woman without sex bein' involved, ya know."

"Copper?" Dawn asked after a moment's pause. Her voice was quiet and small, as if she had realized the colossal mistake she had made.

"That's what I call Kate. She's a detective here in LA, one of the people I hooked up with that fights the good fight."

"Willow told me about her. In your e-mails you never call her Kate. It's always Copper, Fish, Charver, and Rex."

Spike chuckled ruefully. "I guess so. Just like you'll always be Nibblet and Platelet and any other nickname I think up at the time. Just the way I am, Dawn."

"It's just… We didn't even think of connecting the whore on the phone to the friend you told us about. I think Buffy had worked herself up so much that at the sound of a woman's voice, she freaked, ya know?"

Spike closed his eyes, thanking whatever god that was listening that Dawn, at least, had calmed down enough to see reason. "I probably would've done the same if I'd called there an' a bloke other than Harris or the watcher had answered." He paused, giving her time to laugh in acknowledgement of his jealous tendencies. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "I miss you."

"Miss you, too, Nibblet. And as much as I enjoy talkin' to you, this must be costing your sis a fortune an' you shouldn't be up this late on a school night."

"No school tomorrow; it's a teacher work day. You're right, though, it is expensive. I wish I could keep talking to you without Buffy having a fit when she saw the bill."

"Hang up and call collect," he stated, perfectly happy to talk to her as long as she was willing. The expense of the bill was negligible compared to the pleasure of hearing her voice.

Within moments he was talking to her again, this time at his expense. They talked long into the night, he telling her about his friends and their various adventures. He didn't edit the tales like her sister and the Scoobies had done so many times, trying to protect her from the harsher realities of life. Spike had always treated her like an adult, which was perhaps one of the reasons she had been his staunchest supporter.

"How are all the Scoobies?" he asked, once his voice had worn out. "Willow said you an' the slayer were alright, but that was all."

"Is that a not-so-subtle way of getting me to tell you about how miserable Buffy's been without you?"

"No," he laughed. "Though, feel free to do so. I really do want to know how everyone made out. I know you, the sis, and Red made it through the fight an' that Anya didn't. Did the whelp and Giles survive?"

"Yeah. So did Andrew and Robin, which let me tell you, it's still odd not to call him Principal Wood. None of the slayers that made it out of the Hellmouth died. Faith said that you were still… Well, that you should know who died in the caverns and who didn't."

"Wood's still kickin', huh? Can't really say I'm surprised; he's a tenacious bugger. He still with Faith?"

"How did you-"

"Vampire sense of smell, love. Better than gossip for figuring out who's doin' the nasty."

"Ew." Spike smiled as he sensed the disgusted shudder that went through her. "Please tell me that you can't do that any more. Angel was a bit vague on the details of your return."

"What, afraid I'll take one whiff of you an' know what you've been up to?"

"As if! I learned my lesson, or, I should say Buffy's lesson, when it comes to losing my virginity. No way, no how. But when I do, I don't want to have to worry about you killing the guy."

"Long as you're married, I won't have a problem," he joked. "Seriously, Nibblet, you're what, almost eighteen? I figure you're old enough to make your own choices."

"Thanks," she whispered, grateful that at least one person in her life had come to that conclusion. "So, anyway, Faith and Robin were a thing for about a month before she decided to move to greener pastures. Apparently, that's a record for her. They're still friends, as far as I know. Robin lives out in Brooklyn and Faith is in Cleveland, watching over the Hellmouth there.

"Giles returned to England with the girls that were Council raised. Did you know that he actually has an estate in Bath? An honest to God estate, with grounds and everything. It's big enough to house the girls and give them room to train. The older girls go wherever they're needed, but he keeps the younger girls with him. He says they'll be allowed to patrol once they get older, but that he has no intention of letting anyone consider young girls 'instruments' ever again.

"The girls who the Council hadn't kidnapped from their families have returned home. Giles has been gathering the few Watchers left alive and assigning them positions near each girl. The girls know who they are and are encouraged to go to them for training and help, but none have a Watcher overseeing their every move. It's all very revolutionary.

"Xander's living in Jersey, where he's the foreman for some construction company or other. He's dating a half-Bracken demon. She's cool; she can make spikes pop out of her face. It's great to tease Xander about."

Spike chuckled, filing the information away. Ribbing the whelp was never a bad thing.

"Willow and Kennedy are still going hot and heavy. It's good; Willow provides a calming influence on Kennedy and Kennedy bolsters Willow's confidence. They have an apartment a few floors down from us."

"And you? How's your senior year goin'?"

"Good. I've made some new friends here. My grades are up and Social Services has decided to forget about me. They said that since all my records were lost and because I'll be legal so soon that they'll let us be as long as I don't get arrested or anything like that. Which I am so not going to do."

Unknown to Spike, Dawn looked up when she heard a slight noise to find her sister standing uncertainly in the doorway. It pained her to see her sister reduced to an insecure puddle by even a hint of rejection, intentional or otherwise, on Spike's part. She gave Buffy a small smile and motioned for her to join her at the kitchen peninsula.

"I'm not dating anyone, at least not seriously," she told her friend as she scribbled a note on the pad used for phone messages. She could feel her sister wilt with relief when she read that the mysterious Kate they had spent half the night bad mouthing was nothing more than a friend. Friend being underlined several times with little stars littered around it.

"Buffy opened a self-defense academy. It's only been open for a year now, but it's quickly gaining a reputation for being the best. Kennedy and I help out there. Kennedy teaches a few of the classes and I help by being thrown around a lot. But I also get to throw her sometimes. And Buffy lets me train with the advanced classes. I may not be a slayer, but I can hold my own with the other normal people. The academy is gaining such a following that we're thinking of asking Robin to help out. Buffy says we'll have to, simply because the classes we have now can't hold any more people."

She glanced at the slayer in question and noticed her fidgeting. Deciding to take pity on the older girl, she quickly said "But, I'll let her tell you about that," before thrusting the phone into her sister's hand and racing to her bedroom.

"She'd have to be talkin' to me first, Nibblet, remember? She thinks I've thrown her over for some chippy. Doesn't she know that everyone else pales in comparison to her?"

"She does now," Buffy whispered into the phone, making Spike bolt upright.

"Love?"

"It's me, Spike."

He didn't say anything for a few minutes, just enjoying the sound of her breathing.

"I just woke up to find Dawn on the phone. Do you realize it's almost dawn here?"

"No. Dawn didn't tell me where you were livin'. She did say enough for me to guess it's somewhere around New York City. She also promised that she didn't have school tomorrow – today, I guess. And I had her call collect. Don't be mad at her."

"I'm not," she said. After a moment's silence she spoke again. "I miss you."

"I miss you, love. Every day."

"So, are you sporting a nifty new tattoo?"

He chuckled at the upbeat tone of voice and lightened his own tone, knowing that she wanted to avoid the serious stuff for now. "That I am. Was a bit of a shock, tell the truth. 'Specially since I hadn't noticed it yet and someone else had to point it out to me."

"Just think how I feel. If Dawn hadn't seen it, I'd probably still not know it was there. Have you found out anything about them?"

"You know research's not my thing, love."

"No, I know the bleached hair and leather hide a studious persona. You've been researching, you just don't want to admit it."

He chuckled ruefully. "Haven't found much. Mystical soul mates, yadda yadda yadda. I did notice that mine's a mirror image of the one I drew on you."

"Yeah, got that part. Willow thinks it's a ying yang thing."

"Makes sense. Watcher know about it?"

"We clocked him. It only took five seconds for him to mention consulting his books."

"Sounds about right."

"Tell me about your friends," she requested.

"What, amazed I might have normal friends?" he teased.

"Clem was normal. Well, for a demon."

"That he was. Alright. First bloke I met is actually an old friend of yours, believe it or not: Greg Scales."

"Not ringing any bells."

"Said he used to be called Pike. We had a bit of a laugh over the idea of being Pike and Spike."

"Pike? Oh my God."

They talked long into the night, until dawn broke over LA and Spike was forced to admit he was exhausted. The spoke of their friends and allies, their enemies and adventures. Finally, as Spike once again lay down on his pallet, he spoke the words that he had been itching to say since hearing her voice.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

With a contented grin, he hit the disconnect button and closed his eyes, happy in the knowledge that she was safe.

* * *

"Can I ask a question?"

Spike looked over at Connor, who had been kicking a can across the sidewalk as they walked. The skittering of the can meeting concrete had been a constant companion for the last twenty or so minutes of their patrol, and frankly, he was glad to have anything that would distract the younger man from his pastime.

"Only if you quit kickin' that can."

Connor gave the can one last kick, sending it deep into an alley and making a cat yowl. "How many vampires did you sire?"

He wasn't surprised by the question, not really. He had been able to see that question, amongst others, floating around in the kid's eyes ever since he had learned of Spike's previous existence. Those same questions flashed in Kate's eyes and glowed from Greg's. Spike had lost his mental bet that Kate would be the first to ask.

"Not really sure," he said with a shrug.

"Never thought to count them?" Connor asked sarcastically.

Spike turned his attention from his search for demons for a moment and studied the young man. Connor's shoulders were hunched and a sullen look was on his mouth. He was obviously trying to come to grips with his own nature and Spike was the only role model he had.

"I was a vampire for over 120 years, Charver. Bloke can do a lot in that amount o' time. Bloke can forget a lot. In 122 of those 123 years, I know exactly how many vampires I sired."

"And the last year?"

Spike ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Do you know who the First is?" Seeing Connor's look of confusion, he continued. "The First was, is, the First Evil. An incorporeal bein' that can look like anyone who's dead. After I got my soul, she, it, messed with my mind. I don't remember all of what it made me do, but I remember siring vampires. I have no idea how many. As soon as I remembered a bit, as soon as the slayer figured out what was happenin,' she chained me up."

"And before that?" Connor asked, ignoring the tightening of his friend's jaw.

"One."

"One? In 120 years, you only sired one vampire? I thought vampire's had a, I don't know, biological imperative to make more."

"Biological imperative? Talk about that last week in class, did ya?"

"Yes, actually," Connor said, blushing. "All species have a drive to procreate. It's the natural order of things."

"Even unnatural beings? Vampires, say?"

"I think so. Only, vampires don't do it out of an instinct to deepen the gene pool. Masters make minions, minions make even weaker minions to push around. They do it so that there's always someone weaker."

"Interestin' theory. Not all vampires sire others just to have someone to push around, though. Dru made me to be her companion. Darla sired Angelus because she fell into instant lust with him. There's all sorts of reasons."

"And the reason you only sired one?"

"It…was a mistake. After that, I just had no desire to turn anyone else."

They walked in silence for a few moments, both looking for demons to roll. Connor cast glances at Spike, obviously trying to get up the nerve to ask about the one vampire he had deliberately sired.

"For Christ's sake, ask already!" Spike finally snarled, tired of both the silence and the questioning looks.

"Who was it? Why did you choose him? What happened to him?"

"Vampires, when they're sired, forget most human emotions. Most of the healthier ones, at least. They know all about anger and hate. My theory is that the feelings that were strongest in 'em while they were human transfers to their demon and are amplified while the rest fade into memory. Angelus resented his father so much that after he was turned, he slaughtered his family and everyone that ever came into contact with them. Darla didn't have much emotion beyond possessiveness and lust, which, for the most part, she kept trained on Peaches. Dru… Well, Dru was off her bloody rocker.

"Me, though, I was different from the lot of 'em. Maybe it was because of who I was when I was human, I don't know. All I know is that while I had the same capacity to hate, I also knew love. I loved Dru with all my bein' and would have done anything for her. An' there was one other person I felt that way about."

"Someone you knew as a human," Connor guessed, prodding Spike to continue.

"Yeah. It was someone I loved very much. Afterwards, after she rose, she was so different than the person she had been. She wouldn't have wanted to be like that. So… I took care of it. After that, I just didn't have an urge to sire anyone else. Which worked out well for Dru, since that meant she had my full attention.

"Minions are easy to come by, even if you don't make them yourself. There's a constant stream of fledges that are abandoned by their masters. Kinda like that one," he said, indicating a vampire that seemed to be stalking a co-ed. With a quick look exchanged, the two hunters quickly flanked the vampire and "accidentally" bumped him into an alley.

"So sorry, mate," Spike said, helping the demon to his feet. "Didn't see you there."

"I'll show you sor-" the fledgling managed to get out before Connor punched him in the nose, breaking it.

"What was that? Didn't quite catch it. Did you, Charver?"

"Something about him being sorry, I think," Connor replied as he forced the vampire's arm up behind his back.

"He should be sorry," Spike stated, calmly divesting their victim of any valuables he found. "That shirt is a crime against fashion. I never understood why vampires didn't keep up with the times."

"Oh, and the Billy Idol look is in?" Connor questioned as Spike drove a stake home.

"He stole it from me," the bleached blonde grumbled. "Besides, I like my look."

Connor just laughed and turned to go, stopping short at the sight of a demon standing in the opening of the alley. "You invite anyone to the party?" he asked.

"Nah," he replied, sizing up the creature approaching them. The demon was about average height for a human, but had green scales plating his flesh. It wasn't a species he recognized, not that that meant much in the long run. "Don't like sharing my onion blossom, you know that."

Before the demon could get within striking distance, a sound from the back of the alley distracted him. Spike glanced over his shoulder to find two of the demon's kin behind him, these holding a sword and a mace, respectively.

"Definitely party crashers," he said, turning to confront the newcomers, leaving Connor to deal with the original. "Maybe the printer made up some extra invitations and gave 'em to whomever he felt like, eh?"

Further talk was made impossible by the flurry of swings the duo of demons threw at him. Spike easily avoided the majority of the blows, but caught one in the solar plexus which caused him to fold.

_OK, definitely strong buggers_, he thought as he scrambled out of the way of a kick aimed at his head, only to have to roll the other way to prevent the sword from disconnecting his head.

He spared a second to check on Connor as he jumped to his feet then silently cursed himself for the move when the butt end of the mace met his shoulder. With a growl, he threw himself out of the way of the return blow and grabbed a length of pipe that was conveniently leaning against one wall. It wasn't long enough to serve as a quarterstaff, but it did extend his reach a bit.

"Well, c'mon then," he taunted the demons, spinning the pipe in a way that was flashy and designed to confuse.

The demons rushed him, weapons raised. He easily side stepped the one with the sword and thrust the pipe through the second's chest, right where his heart should be. The creature stumbled a bit and Spike turned back to the first just in time to use his duster to deflect the edge of the descending sword.

A quick twist and he was out of the danger zone again, only to pause at the sight of the second demon pulling the pipe out and launching it at him. He barely moved in time to prevent the metal from going through his head as it buried itself deep into the brick wall. He spared a glance at the quivering pipe but didn't take the time to try to pull it out. At least half of it was imbedded in the wall and even his strength was insufficient to remove it.

He didn't have time to think as he started moving again, narrowly avoiding the swinging sword and flailing mace. He grabbed the stake he had habitually stuck in his duster and flipped it at the demon with the sword. The business end planted in the demon's eye, miraculously making it drop the sword in order to clutch at the offending piece of wood.

Spike dashed across the alley and grabbed the weapon up, rolling out of the way of a fumbling punch from the half-blind demon, a swipe of the mace, and a slash from Connor's demon, whom he got a bit too close to. Sword grasped firmly in his hand, he hamstrung Connor's opponent before continuing to roll to the relative safety of the alley wall.

The roar that Connor's demon produced seemed far away as Spike went head to head with the mace-wielding demon. He had never been very good with a sword, preferring the brutality of using his own fists in a fight, so the match was grossly uneven. Spike concentrated on keeping out of the range of the mace or blocking any shots he couldn't avoid while looking for any opening that might allow him to strike at his opponent.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he managed to create a deep gouge in the demon's neck. Black ichor ran down from the wound and onto the demon's chest, mixing with that from the earlier wound. He allowed himself a brief smile of pleasure before he swung the sword again, lengthening the wound until it to the other side of the demon's throat. The creature made a gurgling sound before sinking to its knees. Spike didn't have time to make sure the job was done before the one-eyed demon attacked with an uppercut.

Spike threw himself out of the way and launched his pilfered sword at the head of the demon that now held Connor by the throat. The demon crumpled and released Connor, who sank to the ground, gasping for breath.

He quickly turned back to the remaining demon and went on the offensive. He let all his rage from the last few weeks, the attack on Greg and Kate, the torture of Anya, the meeting with the great poof, and all the battles that had happened in between, build up. With a snarl, he launched himself at the demon, releasing the fear and anger with every blow, every kick. The demon, even with its greater strength, had no chance against the onslaught and was soon on the ground unconscious.

"Charver, you still alive?"

Connor groaned from where he was stumbling to his feet. Spike decided to take that as a yes and quickly ran his eyes over the dark alley. The demon Connor had been fighting was dead, the sword sticking out from between his green, pupil-less eyes. The demon that had wielded the mace was twitching his last, leaving only the third demon for questioning.

"Call Fish and Rex," he ordered the still woozy Connor as he searched for a length of rope or wire to tie up his captive. Finding none, he called back to the kid "And tell 'em to bring some rope."

He had Connor search the dead demons while he watched the prisoner, to give the kid time to recover. When the demon moved a bit, Spike used his steel-toed boots to put a dent in the creature's nose, just to make sure it stayed down.

"Find anything of interest?" he asked Connor when the young man stumbled over.

"Just this," he said, holding out a ring. Spike took it as he continued. "Both of them had one. Odds are this guy does too."

Spike flipped the ring over in his hand, turning it over and over. He knew what the ring was. He had recognized it the moment his friend had handed it to him. It disturbed him on many levels that their attackers were wearing such jewelry.

"It's the ring of the Order of Teraka," he explained to Connor as he slipped the signet into his pocket. "Hired assassins. Expensive assassins at that. We must have pissed someone off."

Connor looked at him in shock but kept quiet until Greg and Kal pulled up in Kate's Car. Both men jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop, a feat that he was sure Kate would be pissed about if she ever learned that Greg had treated her car like that. Personally, he was just glad that her emergency brake was in good enough repair to handle the stress of being pulled before the car had stopped.

"What happened?" Greg asked as they ran up. Kal continued to the demon and proceeded to bind him, making sure to tie more than his wrists and ankles.

"They're from the Order of Teraka," Spike explained. "Hired assassins. Kal, you might as well kill that one. Terakans don't talk. They're paid way too much to."

"You seem to know a lot about them," Greg commented, eyebrows raised.

"Used them before," Spike said with a shrug. "Back when I was still the Big Bad. Hell, sent them after the slayer."

"You sent assassins after Buffy?" Greg questioned. "How in the Hell did she ever forgive you."

Spike's face clouded. "I honestly have no idea, Fish. Setting the Terakans after her was in no way the worst of my transgressions, but she forgave me for all of it. The chit has a soft heart, I guess."

"Could have something to do with the fact that she loves you."

He chuckled wryly. "Maybe, mate. Maybe."

* * *

**AN: **OK, the "Luke and Laura" thing above. If you're a fan of _General Hospital_, then you'll get it without an explanation. For those of you not exposed to the wonders (or evils) of daytime TV, Luke and Laura were very popular characters in _General Hospital_. Back in the 70s, afraid that he was going to die and rather drunk, Luke raped Laura. Later, once the writers decided to pair them romantically, history was rewritten and the rape was termed a seduction.

Fast forward 20 years. Luke and Laura have a teenaged son, Lucky. Lucky has a hate/hate relationship with a girl named Liz, who gets raped on Valentines Day. Their relationship completely changes after her attack, and they become romantic. Lucky, now having first-hand experience with the effects of rape, despises anyone who could do such a thing.

Naturally, it comes out that his father raped his mother. Lucky's whole world crumbles, his family splits apart, etc etc etc.

Now, the connection to B:tVS: Dawn states that Janice told her about Luke and Laura. Amber Tamblyn, who played Janice in the one episode that the character appeared in, also played Emily Quartermaine, Lucky and Liz's best friend on _General Hospital_. Emily was also essential in bringing the rapist to justice.

So, we have a cool bit of symmetry.


	8. Heaven and Hell 08

**Notes:** Believe it or not, the historical information Anya spouts off in typical Anya fashion is accurate. Just goes to show how repressed society was. And what kind of weird info you can find on the net.

Also, a fluffer is the person who works between takes on a porno set to… Uh… Make sure the guy is ready to go on screen. OK, and now you all think I'm some sort of weirdo because I know things like this.

* * *

She was starting to believe that this was real. It was too odd not to be. D'Hoffryn, while a genius when it came to torture and pain, didn't have the kind of imagination it took to make a fantasy world as real as this one. He couldn't create the illusion of smells that drifted in from the kitchen or the plates that they brought to her. He couldn't make the taste of her favorite foods.

And the thing that broke through her haze was the one thing her ex-boss never understood and therefore could not create: tenderness. The tenderness that Spike showed every day when he gave her a sponge bath and washed her hair. The gentleness he had used when he had trimmed the ragged ends and then brushed her hair until it shone. The care he took when he fed her the warm broths and tried to entice her with bits of chocolate and talk of money. D'Hoffryn was incapable of such acts.

So, she watched the people who bustled around her, studying them when they did not realize she was awake, much less aware. Spike she knew, of course. She knew his tenderness and his capacity for violence. He was different now, though. His skin was warm and his flesh glowed with the power of his pulse. While still pale, he was no longer the white of someone long dead. He had often opened the curtains of the bedroom wide while he sat with her, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin as he read or talked.

Kate was also a frequent visitor. She came every night, at first complaining about being an invalid and being left behind. She settled down after her nightly tirade and told Anya how many days she had left before the cast came off. She spoke of her frustration with her day job and having been regulated to a desk until she was more mobile. Kate talked about her friends and companions, sharing humorous tales from the day.

The one Spike called Fish and Kate called Greg was an infrequent visitor. When he did come into the room, it was to tell Spike or Kate that they were needed elsewhere. She rarely even got a glimpse of his short brown hair. She could tell that he was young, though, despite the grey that peppered the sides of his head. That was all she saw of him now, as he motioned for Kate to join him downstairs.

Anya waited for a moment before sitting up fully on the bed. She was still weak, despite Spike's care. Her legs trembled as she stood and she had to lean against the wall for a moment until the black spots that swam across her eyes went away. She shuffled forward, following the wall to the door before making her way across the expanse of the living room with the gate of an old woman.

She heard their voices as soon as she opened the outer door. She instantly recognized Spike's voice detailing an attack on himself and someone he referred to as Charver. Knowing Spike's predilection for nicknames, she filed the information away with a grain of salt.

Once again using the wall for support, she stumbled to the flight of stairs at the end of the walkway. To most it would be only a small obstacle, but to her it looked like she was at the top of Mount Everest, trying to find a path down with no equipment. Not that the top of Everest was a bad place. She had sent one couple there so long ago, when the woman, who had felt jealous of the attention awarded to her husband, wished that they could be absolutely alone. And so they were, until they froze to death.

The quartet of people below her hadn't noticed her presence, which was fine by her. Some part of her needed to do this alone, needed to prove that she was still alive. That is why she grasped the railing firmly with one hand and took the first step.

She must have made some noise, she thought later, as she felt herself falling, too weak to traverse even one step. The next thing she knew, strong, warm arms were wrapped around her and a quiet voice was asking what she was doing.

She looked silently, mutinously, up into Kal's broad face. He had her cradled against his chest like a child, the traditional braid of a Pylean warrior brushing against her face. She remembered him telling her that for a time he had worn his hair in the style of humans, but had grown it back out as a reminder that he was not fully human and should never forget his heritage.

"Let's get you back to bed," he said, taking that first all important step that she could not.

"No." He voice was rough from the amount of screaming she had done. To make sure he understood, she shook her head, only to groan as that made the black spots reappear.

"You OK, pet?" Spike asked from where he stood slightly below Kal. Anya nodded silently. "Do you want to come down?" Another nod prompted Kal to turn back around and follow the blonde down the stairs.

Being carried down stairs was not the most comfortable of things, she decided as Kal placed her on a couch and fluffed a pillow before placing it behind her head. _Fluff. Fluffer, now that's a job I could get into. Except no orgasms, since that would be defeating the purpose of a fluffer._ She had to drag her thoughts back on track when Spike asked her a question.

"Water," she answered, once he repeated his question.

The ex-vampire nodded and loped to a small refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of water. She smiled a weak smile of thanks to both him and Kal, who was tucking a blanket around her.

"How are you feeling?" the half breed asked.

"Like I was run over by a train," she answered with complete candor after taking a much needed drink. "And a bit confused. How did I get here? Where is here, for that matter?"

Spike quickly told her the story, leaving out the exact specifics of how he had threatened her old friend and compatriot. He made sure to reassure her that part of his wish was to have her free from D'Hoffryn and that Hallie knew that she had better keep to the deal.

"Jenmeryn used to grant wishes to those betrayed by their friends," she mused, once the story was done. "I'd summon her if I thought it would do any good. But I'm sure Hallie has now taken my place as favorite torturee."

"How can you be so blasé?" Kate asked, shocked by the dismissive tone in Anya's voice.

The ex-vengeance demon regarded her for a moment before speaking. "Should I feel sorry for the bitch that made me think she was dead? Whom I thought I was responsible for killing? She took part in D'Hoffryn's games, had a hand in my pain. Why should I not want her to feel the same?"

The blonde woman looked taken aback, but did not speak.

"D'Hoffryn tortured me with images of my friends' deaths, made me experience them over and over. Hallie had a different approach. She showed me scenes of her seducing the man I loved. Of them living a life of perfect happiness, where I was forgotten, wiped from his very memory. She made me watch him give her orgasms over and over again. Sorry if I'm not feeling very sympathetic."

Kal clucked his tongue and fussed with her blanket while she continued to stare at Kate. The blonde looked away first, her expression sheepish.

"Now that you've spanked your inner moppet," Connor said, only to frown at the phrase that he had uttered. "I'm Connor. I don't think we've been formally introduced."

"Anya Jenkins," she replied. "What's a moppet?"

"How _are_ you feeling, Anya?" Spike broke in.

"Pretty good, considering everything, I think. I'm not ready to go on a marathon sex romp, but considering I was brought back to life and tortured, I don't think anyone would be surprised by that."

Greg's eyebrows rose at her pronouncement. "You've spent over a year being tortured all you can say is you're not up for sex?"

"Why, do you wish to give me hot, sweaty orgasms?"

Spike chuckled at his friend's expression in regards to Anya's question. "You'll have to get used to Anya. She says exactly what she thinks."

Greg shifted uncomfortably. "I meant, how is it possible that you're not a quivering little mass of whimpers?"

"Oh, so you _do_ want to be my sex friend," she replied, much to the amusement of both Spike and Kal.

"I _meant_," the red-faced Greg tried again. "How is your mental stability?"

"Why didn't you say so in the first place? You're wondering how damaged I am, correct? Not very. It's not as much fun torturing someone who's off their rocker, especially when you've got the power to make sure they stay oriented. So D'Hoffryn just made sure that I didn't lose my mind."

"There's ways to make sure a person doesn't go crazy?" Connor asked.

"Sure," Anya replied with a shrug. "There's all types of magical means of insuring sanity. That's what he used. What was it I heard a minute ago about the Order of Teraka?"

Everyone except Spike seemed a bit nonplussed by the abrupt subject change. He was used to Anya's quirks and explained his earlier encounter with the demons and the realization that someone was trying to kill them.

"So, you rescued me just to put me in danger again? Way to go, Spike."

"You can leave any time you want, pet," the ex-vampire grumbled, falling back on his old habit of being snarky to people.

"And where would I go?"

"Angel would put you up for a few days, I'm sure. Long enough for you to get back on your feet. Might even give you the money to hop out to wherever the whelp is, if you ask nicely."

"No, that would mean seeing Cordelia. I still have bitterness issues. Besides, I know that Xander has moved on. I don't particularly want to interfere."

Spike groaned silently as Kal's face lit up at the mention of Cordelia. The man-demon latched on to the name with the ferocity of a pit bull, just as the ex-vampire expected him to.

"You know Cordelia?" he asked gleefully.

Anya eyed him warily before nodding. "I do."

"Cordelia is – was – my princess."

"Hmm," was all Anya said, though Spike would have sworn he heard her mumble a comment on Cordelia getting to all the good guys first. No one else in the room seemed to notice, so he put it down to mere fancy.

"Anyway, the Order of Teraka. I had a thing with one back in the 1700s. Garn was a ruthless bastard, that was sure. He used to tell me the most wonderful tales of ripping out spines for money. It made me want to start charging for wishes."

"Anya, pet, for a bird that claims to have hated men, you sure had 'things' with an awful lot."

Anya shrugged, unconcerned. "Vibrators weren't mass marketed until the 1900s. I had to get sexual gratification during the other 1100 years I was alive. I bought one of the first vibrators on the market, although at the time they were to be medical tools used to treat Hysteria, not sexual toys."

"Vibrators were used to treat fear?" Connor asked, oddly fascinated by the information.

Spike chuckled and waited for Anya's explanation. Or, more precisely his friend's reactions to the tidbit of history Anya was sure to impart.

"No, not fear: Hysteria. It was a 'disease'," she made little air quotes to insure that they understood the sarcasm. "That many women had. If their husbands couldn't give them orgasms, then obviously they had a disease, right? Women actually went to doctors for treatment, which consisted of physical stimulation, originally by hand and later by vibrator, to achieve orgasm. The vibrator was actually the fifth home appliance to be electrified."

The others stared at her in shocked disbelief.

"Of course, all those bored housewives could have saved a lot of time and money if they had just found a hunk of man flesh that was able to perform coitus adequately."

"What's a vibrator?" Kal asked, confused by the terms Anya had bandied about. He thought she was talking about com-shucking, but in all honesty, wasn't sure. _Why would a woman need a machine during the com-shuck?_

"I'll explain it to you later," Anya stated calmly. "Humans are prudes who think talking about sexual gratification is taboo."

Connor's embarrassed cough broke the awkward silence that followed this pronouncement. "S-so… What can you tell us about Terakans?"

"Only that you must have really pissed someone off. Terakans are the highest paid assassins in the world. To have one after you is sorta an honor, it means that someone cares enough about you to spend that much money. To set three on one person is virtually unheard of. It's widely believed that they all work alone and that someone will try to kill the target until the job's done. That's not really how they work, though, according to Garn. The client pays for a number of assassins and offers a large bounty to whoever completes the job. Most people only hire one guy at a time because they're so expensive."

"How much did you pay them, Spike?" Greg asked.

"Too bloody much, for all the good they did me. Hired three blokes for a couple a million apiece and offered another five for the bounty. It was only that cheap because they all wanted a chance to go up against the slayer that had defeated the Master. Angel still got away and Buffy dropped an organ on me head. Not the most successful of plans."

Spike shifted uncomfortably under the gazes of Kate and Connor, who were regarding him as if he were going to jump out of the chair and bite them.

"'Ey, I was evil! Trying to kill the slayer was what I did at the time."

"So, who have we pissed off enough to merit this treatment?" Greg asked, drawing all eyes back to him.

"None of the demons we go after are organized enough to set up something like that," Connor ventured. "Usually we pick off lone vamps, maybe a nest or two. It's not like we're the scourge of the underworld."

"Could there be a master vampire out there that is tired of losing minions?" Kate asked.

"Doubtful," Greg replied, taking a drink of his bottle of water. "Most masters are too hands-on to deal with mercenaries. If one wanted us dead, he would most likely just go after us with all his minions. And unless someone's been holding back with the stories, that hasn't happened."

Everyone quickly denied leaving details out of their nightly debrief, except for Anya, who had fallen into a light doze.

"I have a feelin' it's connected to the attack on you and Copper. Angel said he'd look into who had the resources to call up a nevary. I suppose I should pay him another visit tomorrow and tell him about the Terakans, see if he has any thoughts in that over-gelled head of his. Yes, Kal," he said to the half breed that was practically quivering with the need to ask to go. "You can come with me and ask after the cheerleader."

Connor and Greg both opened their mouths to object, but he cut them off. "I know I'm not the Hawkeye of our little band of misfits, but this is one thing I'm not budgin' on. Angel an' I have a long and bloody history that I don't want you caught up in. The only reason Kal gets ta go is so he can check on his princess."

Greg reluctantly nodded and Connor looked mutinous at the pronouncement, but before the end of the night, Spike got their agreement to stay away from Wolfram and Hart.

* * *

The same receptionist manned the welcome desk at Wolfram and Hart. Spike gifted her with a predatory grin when he smelt the fear roll off of her.

"'Lo again, pet. Tell the Grand Poof that Spike's 'ere ta see 'im."

The young woman whimpered and reached for the phone.

Satisfied that this time around he would be treated with respect, Spike turned from her and surveyed Kal, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet beside him. Impatience was written in every line of the half breed's body, giving him an air of a hyperactive child on a sugar high.

"You can go right up," the receptionist said, and pointed a shaking finger towards the elevator. "Mr. Angel is in his office, which is on the eighteenth floor."

"Ta, ducks," he stated before leading the quivering Kal to the elevator.

The ride up was over shortly, relieving Spike from the torture that was musak, and they found themselves in a well-appointed outer office. The zombie, Lilah, was ensconced behind a large cherry desk, a file open before her.

"Mr. Bloody," she greeted before focusing on his companion. The only reason he saw her start of surprise was because he was looking for some sign that Angel hadn't been spying on him. "Groosalugg, I wasn't aware that you knew Spike. Angel is expecting you, go right in."

Spike nodded companionably to the woman and crossed to the large double doors that separated the poof's office from hers. What he saw brought him up short. Angel was leaning over his large desk, doing paper work, and completely unconcerned with the blast of sun that fell directly on him.

"Neat trick," he said. "Find another Gem of Amara?"

Angel looked up from his work and scowled at his visitors. "Special filter on the glass. Groo! I thought you went back to Pylea."

Kal shrugged his shoulders and met Angel halfway across the room, clasping his forearm in the way of warriors. "I decided Earth needed warriors more than Pylea. I have been 'helping the hopeless' since I left my princess. Where is Cordelia?"

Angel grimaced and called for his assistant through the still-open doors.

"Sit down, Groo. Lilah, send Lorne to my office, tell him that I need him to take Groo to see Cordy. Groo," he said, once the zombie had left. "After you left, something happened to Cordy. She was possessed by evil, and as a result, she got really sick. Do you know what a coma is?"

"Spike tried to explain it to me, but I did not understand."

"A coma is a sleep that a person can't wake up from," Angel explained as Spike laid a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder."

"My princess is asleep? I will wake her with a kiss, like the tale she told me."

"I wish it were that simple," Angel sighed, fidgeting with his fingers.

"Then I will kill the evil that causes this wakeless sleep. I am surprised that you have not done so, Angel."

"Still, not that simple, Groo. The evil had been part of her, and once it came out, we think it took some essential part of Cordy with it. We've had the best doctors and mystics treat her. None of them gave us hope. Do you remember Jasmine?"

"The flower that bloomed in the courtyard, yes."

"No, the person. She had taken over LA about a year ago. After the rain of fire and the eternal night."

"No, I am sorry. A year ago I was in a place called Washington. When I came back I heard tales of the events you described, but I was not here to witness them."

"That's OK," Angel said as Lorne, the green-skinned demon who had read Spike, came in. "It's probably better that you weren't here. Lorne, could you take Groo to see Cordy?"

"Sure thing, Angel cakes. How ya holding up there, Groo?"

Kal frowned up at the demon. "Kal. My name is Kalverun of the Hardgerick Clan. Groosalugg is a title."

"Well, I knew that, sweetie," Lorne said, patting his friend's arm as he drew him to his feet. "But since everyone called you the Groosalugg, I just assumed you had never been gifted with a name. Hardgerick Clan, huh? You wouldn't happen to be the son of old Rathagack, would you?" At Kal's cautious acknowledgement of the relationship, Lorne's smile grew. "Well, what do you know? That means we're cousins. Eighth cousins twice removed, I think. Rathagack was my mother's seventh once removed. Ah, who knows, I could never keep that stuff straight in my head.

"And Spike, dumpling, you are looking a sight better than you were the last time I saw you. How's that soul mate of yours?"

Hoping Angel hadn't caught the quick glance he threw his way, Spike answered the gregarious demon. "A bit confused about the incredible appearin' tats, but good."

"That's faboo, sweetie. I can't wait to meet her. Anyone who can steal the heart of two totally different vampires is someone I have got to know. Bring her by when she comes down. I'm sure she'll want to play catch up with the big sap."

Lorne pulled Kal out of the room, seemingly unaware of the fact that he had just told Angel the one bit of information that Spike didn't want his grandsire to know. As the door closed, Spike turned to face the vampire, tensed in preparation for the fight he was sure was about to happen.

"You're gathering quite the little group, aren't you?" Angel said as he unconcernedly turned his back on the blonde and returned to his desk. He quickly sat and gestured for the younger to join him before speaking again.

"You're friends with Connor and Gr-Kal. Are there any more of my friends that you've managed to pick up?"

Spike eyed him uncertainly, confused by amiable tone of Angel's voice. While admittedly he had never spent that much time around the souled Angel, the soulless Angelus would have pounded his head into pudding by now.

"A cop named Lockley. I don't think you have any connection to Fish, unless you want to play Six Degrees of Separation."

"Kate? How is she?"

"Good. She's one of the ones who was attacked by the nevary, but she's recoverin'."

"She's back on the force?" Angel asked.

"'Parently, they decided that someone who had experience with the shadier side, so ta speak, was of the good."

"I'm happy for her. What brings you here, though?"

"Got attacked by three members of the Order of Teraka last night. Figured it was the same bloke who set the nevary after us. Thought you'd want to know, at least if you really are looking into it."

Angel decided to ignore the baiting note in Spike's voice. "I have been looking into it. So far, we haven't found out who summoned the nevary. But having the Terakan lead will provide a big help."

"Have you found anything?"

"Actually," Angel said, leaning back in his chair. "We found out why you came back."

Spike immediately sat up. "Don't keep me in suspense, Peaches. What's the what?"

"You've been spending too much time with Buffy," he said with a rueful shake of his head. "You're starting to sound like her. The amulet sent you to a dimension called Kjewlreraw. It's a pretty pleasant place, as far as demon dimensions go. The inhabitants are peaceful but a bit bogged down by tradition. They don't like change or the unexpected. They definitely didn't appreciate me opening a portal so I could talk to them."

He leaned forward in his chair and smirked at the ex-vampire. "The reason they sent you back, believe it or not, was because they were afraid you would upset their socio-political structure."

Spike stared at his elder for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Yo-you mean ta tell me that they sent me back because they were afraid I'd take over?"

Angel, despite his desire not to, couldn't help but join in Spike's mirth. "I know. I know. It sounds like a bad cliché. Anyway," he continued, once they had gotten their laughter under control. "Apparently the amulet was a legendary symbol there. Their version of the Sword in the Stone, I guess. And when their prophesized king showed up looking like you…"

"They flipped their hide-bound wigs?"

"That's one way of putting it," Angel laughed. "You were definitely not what they expected. They were a bit put off by the hair, to say the least. So, the ruling council decided to put a figurehead on the throne and sent you back."

"An' it took them a year to decide that?"

"No, actually, you were only there for a couple of days, and in Kjewlreraw time moves the same as it does here. Wes's theory is that you spent time in some sort of nether world, being transformed into whatever you are now. Which reminds me, Fred and Wes would like to study you."

"Not bloody likely. Had enough pokin' and proddin' by the Initiative blokes, thank you ever so much. Not in any real hurry to go another round."

Angel considered him for a moment before speaking. "I could force you, you know."

"You can bloody well _try_. In case you didn't notice during the last go round, despite the heart beat, I'm still strong. And trying to force me to do somethin' like that is a sure way to get me to go a bit berserk."

"Or, I can just wait until Buffy gets here and have her convince you."

Spike, who had leaned back in a careful show of nonchalance when Angel mentioned studying him, sat up straight once again. "Slayer's comin' here?"

"Didn't she tell you when you talked to her? She's making the trip once Dawn's school lets out for winter break. Dawn's coming with her, of course, and I think Willow."

"No, she didn't tell me. When?"

"Dawn's break starts December 19."

Spike nodded thoughtfully. "There anything else we need to discuss?"

"Just why my Director of Entertainment didn't seem at all surprised that you were in my office, and, oh yeah, how he happens to know you."

Spike smirked. "That's your fault, actually, Peaches. He came to do a sanctuary inspection. How was I to know you'd taken over some law firm?"

Angel didn't look satisfied, so Spike continued the tale of Lorne's accidental reading and promise not to tell his boss.

"I really need to talk to him about client confidentiality when it interferes with what we do here," Angel said ruefully.

* * *

Spike eventually returned to the Warehouse, sans Kal. The half breed had never returned to the Wolfram and Hart building, but he wasn't particularly worried about that. Kal had a lot of issues to work out and knew the way home. Spike only hoped that he was together enough to avoid any attacks made by the shadow figure that had a grudge.

"Anya," he greeted the girl who was once again stationed on the main floor's couch. The young woman waved distractedly at him as she focused on the news report playing on the small TV. One look assured him that it was the business report.

"I hope they didn't sell my stocks," she finally said once the report was over. "They should have earned me quite a bit of money over the last year. But, knowing Xander, he sold them all with no regard for the potential profit. I knew I should have changed my will after D'Hoffryn banished me."

"Where's everyone else?"

"Kate had to go to work. Something about a snafu with some paperwork. She was not happy about it. I haven't seen Connor since this morning. Greg got bored about an hour ago and took off."

"Pet," he said after a few moments of silence. "Do you want me to e-mail Willow an' tell her you're alive?"

"Why on Earth would you do that? It's not like Willow and I were the best of friends."

"But she was a friend, same as Buffy, Nibblet, an' the Whelp. I'm sure they'd like to know."

"I should probably contact them just to see if Xander managed to not spend all of my hard-earned money. I just… I don't want him rushing here thinking that everything will be the way it was. You know, before the wedding."

"I understand, pet. But I thought you an' he had hashed that all out."

"We had. We even had break up sex. So, I shouldn't be nervous, should I?"

"I think that you should be however you are, Demon Girl. If you don't want to tell 'em, don't. Simple as that. Far as I'm concerned, you can stay with me as long as you want. Or, even better, we can fix up the other suite for you."

"But, I can't pay rent. And as much as I appreciate the offer of rent-free living, I have learned the value of paying your own way."

Spike chuckled. "You will be payin' for your keep, pet. Just help out with the research. Greg an' Kate aren't exactly watchers, if you hadn't noticed. Kal doesn't know how to read well enough to help an' Connor's busy with school. All of 'em are bollocks when it comes to anything magical, which means that I'm the only one who's got any magical ability and I like the mojo just about as much as you like a recession."

Anya considered this information for a moment before nodding her head in agreement. "Sounds like a mutually beneficial arrangement. What will the others think of it?"

"They'll probably be so happy to hear me stop complainin' about research that they'll agree without a thought."

"Agree to what?" Greg asked mock-suspiciously from the doorway. Kate balanced on her crutches behind him, a glare directed at his broad shoulders.

"Anya movin' into one of the empty lots. She can help with research."

"Sounds good to me. Kate?"

The detective frowned at their _de facto_ leader. "As long as she doesn't call me in to help fix speeding tickets, I don't care."

"It's not like you weren't at the station anyway," Greg pointed out, grabbing a bottle of water and plopping into a chair.

"You were going 90 in a 30 zone," she snapped, using her good foot to kick his feet off the small coffee table he had propped them on. "The only reason you're not sitting in a cell is because I swore to the captain that you were my boyfriend and you were speeding because you were trying to surprise me with a romantic lunch. You're lucky Captain Logan is a softy."

Spike exchanged a wry glance with Anya as the two pure humans continued to argue about Greg's speeding habit. This was the third ticket she had fixed for him in the same number of weeks and even an idiot could tell that she was tired of it. Greg just smiled unrepentantly as she continued to rant.

"Tell you what, as soon as that cast's off, I'll take you out on the bike and you can see for yourself why I always get tickets."

"I know exactly why you get tickets," she snapped. "It's because you go too damn fast. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you have a death wish."

"I don't have a death wish," he stated calmly.

"No, you just try to pretend you're Superman. You try your damnedest to keep up with Spike, Connor, and Kal. You try to make up for the fact that you think you're deficient."

"I do not," he snapped, bolting upright.

"No, you're right, you don't. You do it all, the speeding, the patrolling, to prove to yourself that you're good enough for some stupid blonde's regard. A person you told me yourself ran away from this life."

Spike raised an eyebrow as he watched Greg's face turn an interesting shade of purple. This had just gotten really interesting.

"I do not do this to prove something to Buffy Damn Summers!"

Anya sent a questioning look Spike's way, which he waved off. He knew Greg's past with the slayer and honestly believed that Greg was right. Whatever inner demons he fought, he did not do so because of Buffy.

"Yeah, right. You told me all about her, remember? She was the one who introduced you to the night life. And then she ran away. Flitted off to a better life, leaving you holding the bag."

Greg scowled down at Kate and snapped, "Buffy was a friend, nothing more. And I never said she flitted off to some better life. She flitted off to heartache and Hell."

"Oh yeah, real Hell. She ran off and had an affair with a vampire! What, you thought I wouldn't connect the name? I'm a cop, this is what I do!"

"Kate, I would advise you to stop talking about now."

"How'd it feel to be thrown over for an evil creature? Is that why you still hunt them? Hoping one day you'll get lucky and find Angel?"

Greg, apparently at his rope's end, gave a wordless growl and stormed back outside. Seconds later they all heard the sound of his cycle revving then peeling out. Kate continued to glare darkly at where he disappeared, having long since forgotten about her audience.

Spike reined in his own frayed temper and quietly ordered Kate to sit.

"I think, Copper, that you're the one that has the problem here. I'm just sorry that I didn't see it sooner. Let me guess, you had a bit of a crush on Angel but found out about the love of his bloody life? Shut up," he snapped when she opened her mouth to refute his claim.

"So, then, you finally find another guy you're interested in and lo an' behold, Buffy was there first. Guess what? It's in the bloody past, get over it. Buffy isn't going to come back to town and swoop in and steal your guy. You want to know why Fish patrols every night, ask him instead of jumping to stupid, wrong conclusions. Until a few months ago, he hadn't even given Buffy a second thought, much less knew what she had gotten up to after leaving LA."

Afraid he'd say too much, Spike grabbed his duster and stomped out of the Warehouse, determined to avoid all humanity until his temper cooled. He desperately wished it were dark so that he would have some vampires to pound.

Kate turned wide eyes to Anya, who sat watching her calmly.

"What the fuck is it about Buffy Summers, bitch extraordinaire, that makes men put her on a damn pedestal?" she finally asked, not expecting an answer.

"You really don't know, do you?" Anya finally said, looking at Kate as if she were a specimen under a microscope. "And they always said I opened my mouth before thinking. You have just ostracized two of your friends by bad mouthing someone you don't know."

"I know her," Kate snapped back as she settled wearily into Greg's abandoned chair. "I've met her before. She didn't strike me as all that."

Anya shook her head. "I may not understand all the undercurrents around here yet, but even I can see that what you just did was a mistake. Fortunately, it's not my problem to fix. It's yours."

She looked up as the outer door opened once again, this time revealing Kal. Anya quickly noted the strained lines around his mouth and eyes and decided that it might be best if the man didn't have to deal with Kate's issues.

"Kal, could you help me upstairs? I don't particularly want to be in Kate's company right now."

The half breed hurried over to her and helped her to her feet. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just don't want to talk to her at the moment. I might lose my temper, which I think would be of the bad. Maybe you could show me the empty apartment? If I'm going to stick around, I'll need my own place. God knows I can't keep crashing at Spike's."

Kal's face lit up slightly as he steadied her on the trip upstairs, Kate apparently forgotten.

The apartment was a mirror of Spike's. The slate countertops contrasted nicely with the hardwood floors, giving it a sophisticated yet rustic look. The cream walls were bare of ornamentation. It was a very nice apartment, as far as apartments went. It only had one bedroom, which was all she needed, of course. The living area was big enough to hold any and all electrical equipment she could possibly ever want and the bathroom, like all the bathrooms in the Warehouse, Kal confessed, sported a whirlpool tub. The only thing she could wish for was that it had a washer and dryer hook up. Kal explained that they all shared a small laundry room in one corner of the building.

"You will have to buy furniture. I will gladly loan you the currency you need to do so."

"I couldn't take your money," she argued. "You work hard for what you earn and should keep it safe in the bank."

He gave a wide grin. "You know, do you not, that none of us earn money, exactly. We... I believe the word Spike likes to use is 'tax,' demons that we kill. We then clean the money. Or, at least, the others do. I have not seen them place it into the washing machine, but they assure me that they have laundered it."

She gave a delighted laugh. "Regardless of how you came by it, you surely have better things to do than give it to me."

"No, I do not. Before coming to Earth, I had two changes of clothing and all the weapons my servant could carry. Having more than that seems unnatural to me. Most of my money I give to Spike, who has promised to put it in something called a savings for me. I also give some to what he assures me is a worthy cause."

Anya frowned. Kal was way too trusting about his money. While she didn't think Spike would rob the man-demon blind, he had ample opportunity to do so. What would happen if Kal gave that same trust to someone else?

"I'll talk to Spike once he gets back. Have him give me access to your account, to your money, and I'll take whatever I need. I'll pay you back, of course. I'll also teach you how to track your own finances that way you don't have to depend on someone else to do it for you."

He frowned in confusion but didn't argue the point.

She led the way back to Spike's corner of the building and collapsed onto the couch. While she was miraculously healthy after over a year of torture, even short walks tired her. She could only hope that she would strengthen quickly.

"Did you see Cordelia?" she asked as she pulled him down beside her, grasping at anything to keep him out of the sulking Kate's range.

"Yes, I did. She is in something called a coma. They told me that it was a sleep she could not wake from."

She stared at him in shock. "I'm sorry, Kal. I'm sure Angel is doing everything in his power to help her."

"He is. They love each other, you know? That's why I left. They had such _moira_."

Anya nodded, understanding the Pylean word for attraction. "I've seen that before. Spike and Buffy are that way, not that she would admit it. You can just look at them and tell that nothing will ever break them up, not really."

"Buffy is the name of the warrior that Spike loves?"

"Yeah, Buffy Summers. My fiancé, my ex-fiancé, was one of her best friends. That's how I know her. Well, no, that's not true. The whole reason I know her is because of your princess."

Anya told him about her past as a vengeance demon and the wish gone wrong. A wish that Cordelia Chase, scorned woman, had made. She told him of her doomed relationship with Xander and the wedding that wasn't.

"What I really miss is the Magic Box. That was the store I owned. I miss receiving money for over-priced goods from gullible people. I miss counting the money at the end of every day."

"Perhaps you could open another shop in which to peddle your wares. Or, you could buy a wagon and travel the country and sell your product to many different people."

Anya dismissed the traveling salesperson idea out of hand, knowing that she was not suited to such a job. Selling to people throughout the country was an intriguing idea though.

"I could run an internet based company. I don't know as much about computers as Willow does, but I know enough to start, I think. I could still take money from people without actually having to deal with them. That is a great idea, Kal."

His grin broadened at her praise. "I am glad to be of service, Anyanka."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked abruptly, only to grin when he understood the segue.

"She looked very peaceful lying there. The aides Wolfram and Hart hired make sure she looks her best every day. She used to insist on looking good, you know? She told me once that she had been the queen of Sunnydale, but that she was much happier being just Cordy of LA.

"She told me a story once, about a princess that was placed under an evil spell. Only her true love's kiss would wake her. It didn't work, though."

"Oh, Kal," she said sadly. "That's just a fairy tale. It doesn't work that way in real life."

"No? It made me realize something: I'm not her true love. I never was. I think, perhaps, Angel is. Or maybe someone she never got a chance to meet. Anyone but me."

Silently, she gathered him into her arms, awkwardly offering non-sexual comfort to ease his aching heart.


	9. Heaven and Hell 09

Spike looked around the brothel, oddly uncomfortable with his surroundings. While he wasn't a prude, far from it in fact, this was the first time he had ever been in a brothel, either human or demon. When he had been human the first go round, he had been too much of a momma's boy to ever consider such worldly acts. As a vampire, he had been too devoted, first to Dru, then to Buffy, to be interested in other companionship.

Now, after 150 years on Earth, he had finally stepped into a brothel. Led there, oddly enough, by the often child-like Kal and trailed by the excited Anya, who was the only one who was there to do business.

"Let me ask you this," Anya was saying to the mistress of the place. "How many potions do you sell a year? One? Two at most? I know how hard you trained to be considered competent enough to brew such delicate works of art. And your talent is going to waste. If you agree to my proposal, you'll increase sales and therefore your sense of self worth."

The proprietress, a witch named Anita, arched one delicate eyebrow at Anya. "Many of the potions I offer must be specially brewed."

"That's no problem. We'll just mark them as special order on the site. You must admit, Anita, that my proposal makes sense. Especially now that the Hellmouth is closed. I bet a lot of the demons used to pop down for a bit of sexual gratification. D'Hoffryn knows that Willy's didn't offer orgasms. Well, not any that anyone would accept, the slimy little human."

Anita regarded her for a moment before speaking again. "And what do you get out of this?"

"The happy knowledge that I am helping my fellow humans. And thirty percent."

"Ten."

"Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"Fifteen!" Anya scoffed. "You are taking the food right out of my future children's mouths."

Anita just raised an eyebrow at her guest and waited in silence.

"Alright," Anya conceded. "Fifteen percent. I'll just have to jack up the price on other wares."

The two women began to discuss a contract, planning when to meet and such. Feeling a bit useless in his role as guard for the day, Spike wandered away from the women and Kal, mildly curious about what sort of things went on in a demon brothel.

He was a bit surprised to find that most of the talent wandering the hallways were human, in appearance, at least. There was a vampire or two, one girl whom he thought was a f'gar demon. He couldn't help but wonder if the establishment catered to demons that enjoyed a bit of human comfort. Or if the more obvious demons were kept in a separate part of the building in deference to the human customers.

He silently wandered the halls, idly glancing in the open doorways. He ignored the woman he saw chained to the wall in one room, recognizing the look of pleasure on her face as a vampire fed from her arm. Another room resembled an Arabian harem, or at least the Hollywood version of one. A voluptuous woman grinned at him from her nest of pillows, the look one of pure invitation.

Eventually, he made his way back to the lobby of the mansion, having explored the hallways and seeing things that would possibly scar him from life. He had thought the chirago demon dancing was bad. Seeing group of them mating was even worse.

Anya, Anita, and Kal were waiting for him in the lobby, the two women still discussing business.

"I will contact my cousin in Vegas. She runs a very well respected house there. Heather also has a few girls who can brew some of the lesser potions. Mostly, they sell luck charms, but I think that's mainly because they are in Vegas."

"That would be great."

"I like your hair better this way," the witch said, turning to Kal. "You do not look like a shadow this way. Although, I must admit, I thought it was adorable when I thought you and your companion were together."

"We were together," Kal said, smiling at her. "We came to your business together and then we fought a tree demon together. Angel was the one to actually kill the demon, but he allowed me to take credit for the feat, thus increasing my valor in the eyes of my princess."

"Spike," Anya gushed, seeing him. "They have a _Pièce De Temps_ here. Can you believe that?"

"'Room of Time?' What's that, pet?"

Anya gushed about the room, explaining that it was bespelled to create the maximum enjoyment of each moment. Time literally slowed down for those in the room.

"If I could sell that on my site, I'd be able to retire in a month."

"Sounds interestin,' Demon Girl." Truly intrigued by the idea, he turned to Anita and requested to see such a feat.

"I'm afraid that the room is in use right now," she confessed. "Their allotted time ends at noon, if you would like to come back then? I can give you the five cent tour. And perhaps," she said with a sensuous smile. "If it is not scheduled to be in use after that, I can give you a personal demonstration."

Spike smirked at her, curling his tongue over his teeth in the way that had always caused Buffy's heart rate to increase. Not that the slayer had ever admitted that, of course.

"I'll pass on the demonstration, pet. Would like the tour, though. Noon, you said?"

After she confirmed the time, Spike trailed after Anya and Kal, the two of them discussing their next stop. Anya had picked that day to begin her visits to the local demon community, taking the two men as both guides and protection from some of the less friendly of LA's underworld.

"There's a colony of k'maws a short distance away," Kal was telling their friend.

"K'maw demons have no marketable skills or products. I will visit them once the website is up and running, to offer them the chance to purchase items at an outrageous price. What I really need is a har'nesh clan. Do you know of any?"

"Down by the docks," Spike volunteered as he unlocked the doors to the car they had rented for the day. "I assume you want to make a deal for their sheddings?"

"Yes. Har'nesh scales are very valuable to those who practice the Wiccan arts. As such, there is a very high bounty on them. Which is stupid, since they shed their scales constantly, and for the most part have no use for the discarded flesh. Perhaps I can convince them that they'll be increasing their safety from bounty hunters by donating their sheddings for little or no monetary compensation."

Spike chuckled and turned the car to the dock district, glad that he had memorized the location of all the major demon populations.

The tunnels under the docks were typically dark and dank, a fact that the friends ignored. Spike knew that the har'nesh disliked the bright sun, which made sense given their cave evolution. He had been rather surprised to learn that a clan had settled in sunny California, having assumed that they would feel more at home in a place like Washington state or England, where it rained more often than the sun shone.

As he approached the chambers that housed the relatively peaceful demons, the sounds of battle reached his sensitive ears. He instantly stopped and grabbed the flashlights held by both Anya and Kal, forcing the beams to the floor of the tunnel.

"What is it?" Anya asked a little fearfully.

"There's a fight. Kal, you armed?"

Kal produced his favorite weapon, a broadsword that he had liberated from Angel's weapon's cabinet before he had left his princess. Spike would have been amused to know that the sword had been his grandsire's favorite weapon as well.

Anya nervously bit her lip, wishing that she had thought to bring a crossbow with her as Spike, brandishing a long knife, and Kal crept further into the tunnel. Logically, she knew that it was bad form to make business deals over weapons, but now, when she needed one, she regretted the lack.

She quietly followed the two warriors after turning off both her flashlight and the one Kal had thrust at her. Wishing they were the heavy duty kind instead of the cheap plastic ones, she slipped one into her purse and hefted the other. It was an inadequate weapon, but it made her feel better, never the less.

They were almost to the clan chambers, the sounds of battle loud enough that even Anya, with her all-too-human ears, could hear the sounds that had alerted Spike to danger. She waited patiently as Spike poked his head around the corner of the tunnel so that he could see what was happening. When he growled low in his throat and charged into the chamber without relaying what he saw, both she and Kal followed him unquestioningly into the fray.

What she saw once she rounded the corner was enough to turn her stomach. Dozens of large demons surrounded the much smaller har'nesh clan, methodically slashing their way through the ranks of adults that vainly tried to fight them off. The adolescent har'nesh, many with their ears still held shut with a layer of protective scales, whimpered in fright as their elders were slaughtered.

Spike and Kal had the element of surprise on their side, an advantage that they used for all it was worth, but it still was not enough. The attacking demons quickly broke into two groups, one of which continued their massacre while the second dealt with the intruders. Quickly seeing that her friends would, at the very least, be beaten into bloody pulps, Anya cast about for a weapon.

Lifting the long knife she found, she gave a battle cry worthy of Xena and joined the fight. As she dodged a meaty, spike-tipped fist, she couldn't help but wonder where both her brains and her sense of self preservation disappeared to. It was not so long ago that she had fled Sunnydale in order to avoid an apocalypse. In the intervening years, she had apparently lost all common sense. Hell, she had even died trying to protect the world from evil.

Seeing the strangers fighting their attackers gave the har'nesh demons a new sense of hope. Their failing spirits lifted and they rallied against the larger demons, slowly but surely cutting through their ranks.

After the eternity of five minutes, the last of the larger demons were dead or had fled, and the cavern descended into silence as the har'nesh began to triage their wounded. Anya was saddened by the sheer number that had been killed. The small clan of over a hundred and fifty had been decimated to less than twenty adults and about thirty juveniles.

Kal found her, quietly crying as she picked up a particularly small child. He couldn't have been much older than a week, lying next to what had surely once been his mother. She had used her own jacket to cover the remains of the mother's face and quietly rocked the child, attempting to make soothing noises through her tears.

"Were you hurt in the battle?" he asked, misunderstanding the source of her tears.

"Once, I wielded the power of the wish to rain destruction down on men. Now, the thought of this male child growing up without his mother is enough to turn me into a simpering idiot." She turned her gaze from the child to her friend. "If we had been just a few minutes later, if there had been a few more attackers, this fragile life would be gone. This tiny child, who hasn't hurt anyone, would be as cold as his mother."

Kal silently drew both her and the child into his arms, rocking them gently. His small talent of empathy was enough to pick up emotions that broke his heart.

"Do you want to go back to the Warehouse? Spike and I will be able to find alternative transportation later."

Her emotions developed a hard edge as she stiffened her spine and moved away from him. "No," she said, using one long, gore encrusted sleeve to wipe the tears from her face. "I need to help."

She took a shuddering breath before striding towards the make-shift nursery that had been set up in the corner opposite the temporary emergency room. One of the older children who had been drafted into looking after the younger ones, met her at the edge of the designated area and gave a soft cry at the sight of the infant.

"Ish-ta," she identified him as she cradled him to her own chest. "My first-sister's child." The girl nodded gratefully to Anya and carried the child away, humming one of their traditional songs.

They ended up spending most of the day in the cavern, tending to the wounded and the dead. Anya provided what sympathy she could, and didn't bring up money or business once.

* * *

Kate moaned as she used a swizzle stick to scratch her cast-encased ankle. The skin under the plaster felt as if ants were crawling over it, driving her already frayed emotions that much closer to unraveling.

She wasn't really sure why she was on such a roller coaster these days. If pressed, she would guess it was due to a combination of irritation over her broken leg, the stress of the recent changes in her life, and perhaps a touch of sexual frustration. While most days she refused to admit that she needed anything from the male members of the human species, the arrival of Anya and her inability to keep private thoughts private reminded the blonde detective of the things she was missing out on. Not the sex so much as the comfort of snuggling into strong arms after a long day. She missed the feel of listening to a heartbeat thumping under her cheek and the way that the hollow of a man's shoulder seemed to be made especially for a woman's head.

Unfortunately, there was a dearth of applicants for the position of boyfriend. The other detectives all looked at her as if she were one step away from the asylum, which was, perhaps, the truth. The fact that she had been re-instated during the whole Rain of Fire fiasco as an "expert" only added to her status as the station pariah.

Bar hopping had never been her forte. Hell, the rare times that she had gone to a bar looking for companionship was when she was working undercover. The only guy she had picked up was Angel, and God knew how that had turned out.

Her exclusive group of friends also lacked candidates for the position. Connor was obviously too young. She was anyone but Demi Moore dating Ashton Krutcher. As for Kal and Spike, part of her couldn't help but shudder at the idea of obtaining physical intimacy with either of them. While she had overcome her irrational hatred of all things demon, an accomplishment she mentally patted herself on the back for, the idea of being in a romantic relationship with anyone who was not a pure human was, in her eyes, just wrong. That left Greg as the only possibility.

Greg. Half the time she didn't know what to think of him. He made her laugh and want to slap him. He drove too fast and with no regard for his own safety and fought with a single-minded purpose, as if he were trying to prove something to someone.

_To prove something to _her, she thought sourly. The "her" being one Buffy Summers: slayer, good girl, and all around up-on-a-pedestal material.

With a sigh, she twirled her glass of scotch in her hands, watching the pattern the condensation made on the dark bar. Technically, she was still on duty. Not that she would get called in on a case. Now that the memory of the terror caused by the blackened sky and Jasmine's death had started to fade, her colleagues were starting to look at her the way they used to do right before her suspension. Earlier that day she had over heard two other detectives snickering over the idea of one of the cases she had come to recognize as underworld related. Memory fades, and with it caution.

She knew what would come next, of course. Whispers in the bullpen. Awkward silences when she walked into a room. Smirks when they thought she wasn't looking. It would all culminate in her once again being out of a job.

The thought scared her. No, scared wasn't the right word. Spike would have been able to come up with a long list of synonyms. She only needed one: terrified. Being a cop was the only thing she knew. If she wasn't a cop, she was nothing at all.

Would she break down, the same way she had done the last time? Would she find a bottle of pills to swallow, desperate to make the confusion go away? Or maybe this time she would use her personal revolver, the one she had tucked away under her bed. Terrified was a good word.

"Kate," a voice said from behind her, sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet bar and startling her out of her thoughts.

She glanced at the mirror that reflected bottles and the rest of the bar. It was an instinctual move, one she had honed in the years since she had learned about the unseen side of LA. She wasn't quite sure if she was relieved to see Greg reflected back at her or disappointed that it wasn't a random demon determined to end her misery.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she turned to watch him settle in the stool beside her. She idly noticed that his dark hair was sprinkled with grey. A testament to the life they lived.

"I could ask you the same question."

She shrugged and tossed back the scotch and signaled for the barman to get her another. She could feel displeasure radiating off Greg in waves. She thought it was an interesting sensation.

"How many of those have you had?"

"Not enough," she stated calmly, swirling the ice cubes around the empty glass as she waited for her refill.

"How many is not enough?"

"At least one less than enough."

He frowned at her, not liking the flippant answer. "Why are you drinking?"

"Because I'm thirsty? Thanks," she said to the bartender, giving him a sensuous smile.

Greg put his hand on top of the new glass, preventing her from taking the drink she so desperately needed.

"It's not even noon, Kate. You shouldn't be drinking. Why aren't you at work?"

This elicited a bitter laugh from her. "Work?"

"Yes," he elaborated. "Remember, that place you go most days in an effort to make the world a better place?"

She snatched the glass away from him and downed the fiery liquid in one swallow. "Open your eyes, Scales. The world isn't a better place. Nothing we do matters."

"Everything we do matters," he stated emphatically, jerking the glass out of her hands. It was a futile gesture, considering it was already empty. "Every life we save is a life that we are meant to save. We protect the world every night."

Another bitter laugh poured forth from her lips as she slumped tiredly onto the bar. "There is no bigger meaning, you know? We're not going to get a better spot in Heaven because we killed a few demons or saved a few lives. Simple acts of kindness are not going to ensure our eternal reward. We're all going to die horrible, bloody deaths at the hands of the very creatures we try to protect people from."

"Do you really believe that?"

She was silent for a moment, considering the question through the slight fuzziness caused by the third glass of scotch. "Yes, we will die horrible deaths," she concluded, throwing a random bill on the bar to cover her tab.

At least this time around she wouldn't have to worry about money when the department handed her her walking papers. Her portion of Warehouse Security amounted to a nice little nest egg. So nice that if she invested wisely she would never have to work again. They always split the profits evenly, the group of them. Even though she was laid up, unable to patrol, Kate had received an equal share of the "taxes."

She could hear him following her as she clumped out of the bar, her leg finally healed enough that she could forgo the crutches. Breaking both of the bones in the lower part of the leg was painful, she had discovered. She was only glad that the damage had not required a full leg cast to heal, giving her a little more mobility. A little more freedom.

Greg walked beside her as she made her way back to the department and her car. No doubt he was marshalling his thoughts, getting ready to lecture to her about the evils of drinking and why her life was worth living.

"We will, you know," he said, surprising her both with his words and by grabbing the keys she had held loosely in her hand. He unlocked the passenger side of her little compact and indicated that she should get in.

"We will what?"

"Die horribly. What's that old saying? 'Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse?' That won't be us."

She chuckled wryly as she slipped into the seat. "Well, the die young part maybe."

"Live fast, die young, leave a mangled corpse?" he asked as he settled into the driver's side and started the car. "Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it?"

She was silent as he drove; only raising one brow when he passed the turnoff that would take them to the Warehouse and instead turned the vehicle towards the beach. This was better, perhaps. The day was chilly enough that only the die hard would be there, leaving most of the sand empty of sunbathers and paraphernalia.

They sat in the car once they had arrived, contemplating the waves for a moment, before he finally turned to her. "I'd say let's go for a walk, but I can't imagine that getting sand in that cast would be very pleasant."

She grimaced at the thought. "Why are we here?"

"You tell me. Why were you at the bar before noon?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I'm about to lose my job. Again."

"So?"

"I'm a cop, Greg! That's all I am!"

He considered her for a moment and slowly shook his head. "You have issues," he stated simply.

"So my shrink tells me," she returned, bitterly.

He shrugged, neither surprised nor particularly caring that his friend saw a psychologist. Truth be known, all of them probably should, since they were obviously loony to be living the life they did.

"What does your shrink tell you to do about your issues?"

"He doesn't. He just listens to me talk about them."

"Does it help?"

"Hasn't so far."

"Does anything?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Having friends. It gives me hope that maybe I'm more than just a cop with issues."

"You are, you know. More than a cop. You're a warrior, a champion. OK, with issues, but we all have them."

"How do you deal with them?"

"My issues? I usually beat up a vampire."

She giggled before stopping in shock over the fact that she actually _giggled_. "A good number of my issues come from the fact that there _are_ vampires."

"See, there you go," he said with a smile. "What better way to deal with those issues than to beat the crap out of them?"

* * *

Connor danced around the partition and the support beam that held it in place, entering his corner of the Warehouse's main floor. They had erected the partitions shortly after he had moved in and the group had discovered how annoying it was to have a half-finished engineering assignment scattered around the massive space previously used as a common room and training room. When he confessed to his friends that the jumble of parts was normal, they had quickly conferred and came up with the solution to partition off the space underneath the apartments, giving each of them a pseudo-office and a series of storage rooms to be used as they each saw fit.

Connor, for his part, used his space as a workroom for both his engineering projects and the little side designs he created for the group. While he still had over two years of college left, he seemed to instinctively know how to create and build the complicated designs required for weapons.

Today he had decided to take a break from the project assigned by his summer semester professor, an hourglass that timed exactly five minutes. Instead, he had popped a CD in the stereo and turned it up until he could feel the vibrations through the floor. It was an activity he never would have gotten away with if any of the other occupants of the Warehouse had been there.

Satisfied with the noise level, he settled down at his workbench, bobbing his head in time to the beat. Before him was the tools used for making bullets, several vials of holy water, and bits of wood. While he, Spike, Greg, and Kal preferred, and were used to, fighting hand to hand, or sword to hand, as the case may be, Kate was trained to use a gun and instinctively reached for the weapon when faced with an opponent. Connor had no problem with such a reaction; in fact, it had come in handy with a demon or two. Not much would get up after a bullet ripped out the back of its head.

The problem was that bullets didn't affect their main foe, vampires. Nor did they affect several other types of demons, weres, or zombies. With that in mind, he had set out to design a better bullet, one that Kate could use to the most benefit.

The problem, he soon discovered, was making a bullet that was both deadly to vampires and strong enough to survive the force of being shot. To that end, both wooden bullets and glass-tipped ammo, his first experiments, were failures. Which meant back to the drawing board. At a loss for a solution, he browsed one of Kate's supply magazines, looking for anything that might jump out at him.

He had just spotted a picture for rat shot when he sensed someone near the front door. There was a change in the vibrations of the floor, indicating that whoever was there was hesitatingly walking into the building. That indicated to the young man that it was someone other than his friends.

He grabbed up the stake launcher he had been tinkering with the day before and casually held it in his hand as he stood and rounded the partition into the main room of the Warehouse. To a stranger the launcher would look innocuous, and if the stranger was unfriendly, it would prove deadly.

He studied the man invading his territory for a moment, head cocked slightly to the side. He was a little taller than Connor but with the same basic build and thinning hair liberally sprinkled with grey. He looked hesitant to enter the sanctuary of the building, glancing from side to side, unerringly finding each of the weapons displayed on the walls. Connor couldn't help but wonder what he would think if he knew of the unseen caches, such as the ax and sword lodged beneath the pommel horse.

"Dad," he said calmly as he switched off the stereo.

"Connor!" Harold Trent exclaimed, swirling to where the younger man was standing. Connor could hear his father's heart race from where he had startled the older man.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as he casually tossed the launcher back onto his work bench.

"What am I doing here, he asks. I haven't seen you since Christmas. You call to tell your mother and me that you're moving out of the dorms and taking summer classes but refuse our help with moving. You haven't called in a month. What am I doing here? I'm making sure you're OK."

Connor smiled sheepishly. He hadn't even realized it had been so long since he had talked to his family, the hectic pace of life in the Warehouse and school had made the time slip away like sands in the hourglass he was supposed to be working on.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I got a little busy."

Harold laughed and gave him a fond look. "Engineering projects?" he asked, knowing his son's penchant for losing himself in projects.

At Connor's nod he scanned the large room once again, a frown appearing on his face. "Connor, I know you said you got a job, but how can you afford this place?"

"I don't," he confessed truthfully. "I'm just one of six people living here. The building is owned by Warehouse Security and the rent is basically non-existent."

"That's the company you work for, right? What on earth do you do for a security company?"

Connor flashed him what he hoped was an innocent smile. "I check on a couple of the buildings they provide the security for. I make sure that all the doors are locked, no windows broken, that sort of thing."

His father frowned worriedly, causing him to quickly reassure the man that his "job" was perfectly safe.

"I only go with either the owner or an off duty cop, Dad. Basically I'm there to call 911 while Greg or Kate keep an eye on the building if something's wrong." He shrugged the niggle of guilt away as he told the fib. "Let me show you around," he offered.

His father agreed and Connor led him around the bottom floor, spending only a short time in his own workroom before proceeding on to show him Spike's library and Anya's "shop." He cheerfully explained that Spike, for all his unconventional name, worked as an independent researcher while Anya was working on an internet startup. Greg was labeled as the CEO of Warehouse Security with Spike and Kate being identified as major shareholders. Kal, he explained, was a friend of a friend of sorts and didn't really do anything except work for the company.

"Let me just warn you now," he told his father as he led him up the stairs to his apartment. "Just in case you meet them: Kal and Anya are not native English speakers. They have complete comprehension of the language, but every once in awhile they say something that makes little sense or sounds completely off the wall."

His father nodded thoughtfully and looked at his new surroundings. "And the weapons?"

Connor forced a laugh and shook his head. "Spike and Greg are closet geeks. They buy all those things from Museum Replicas. Spike actually has the entire collection of _The Lord of the Rings_ swords on display in his apartment." Which was, in actuality, the truth. Spike adored the epic fantasy work and often reminisced about meeting Tolkien himself in an English pub while the writer was writing the notes that would later be published in _The Silmarillion_.

"They look so real," Harold said in wonder, buying the story.

"Well, in a sense, they are real," his son explained. "They're all sharpened and everything. The idea of using a sword in modern times is a bit ludicrious, though, wouldn't you say?"

The older man laughed in agreement as he explored Connor's suite. The apartment was spacious if a bit sparsely furnished. Connor had decorated it with a few movie posters and band pictures. The small number of weapons he actually had on display were explained away as gifts from Spike, who, he said with a laugh, had more money than he knew what to do with at times.

"He makes very good money as a researcher," he told his father. "That, plus the income from the Warehouse, is simply more than he needs."

"So he spends it on you?" his father asked, paternal feelings of worry coming to the fore once again.

"Nah. Not much of it, at least. I'm really not sure what he does with it all. I think he's set up a college fund for his girlfriend's little sister, but beyond that," Connor gave a shrug to indicate his lack of knowledge.

The two talked for over an hour, discussing Connor's school work and what his family had been doing for the last month. He was pleased to learn that his aunt was feeling better after a bout with mono and frowned when he learned that his sister had gone out on her first date.

Sudden music from downstairs, loud enough to rattle the upstairs windows, followed by a just as sudden silence and a bellow from below told him that Spike had returned. And wasn't happy over the fact that Connor had forgotten to turn the volume knob down on the stereo when he turned it off.

He winced and smiled apologetically to his dad as Spike launched a stream of expletives so foul he could have sworn that the air actually turned blue.

"That's Spike," he explained. "He's not usually that bad. Something must have happened while he was out. Stay here; I'll go see what's wrong."

Without waiting for a reply, he sprung from the couch and jogged out the door. Once he saw the look of pure fury on Spike's face and an obviously exhausted Anya leaning weakly on Kal, he forwent the stairs in order to jump gracefully from the balcony to the ground floor.

"What happened?' he questioned as he helped Kal settle Anya on the couch, taking a quick visual inventory of her to check for obvious wounds. Finding none, he ran his eyes over both the half-breed and the Champion for the Powers and discovered that they both sported several gashes and bruises that had not been there when they left on their networking foray.

"Buncha big, ugly mutha-"

"Uh, my dad's upstairs," he quickly interrupted, wincing at the volume his friend had been using. "He's already heard you use every curse in the English language, let's not give him any other reason to suggest I move out."

Spike scowled but lowered his voice. "We walked into a massacre. As you can see, we managed to walk out. Most of the buggers that were doin' the killin' didn'."

"They didn't deserve to," Anya said, her voice holding a note of vengefulness he had only heard when she had first talked about Halfrek and D'Hoffryn.

"They were killin' kids, Charver," Spike explained, not at all taken aback at the tone Anya used. In fact, his own voice held a note of satisfaction as he went on to describe the final fate of the demons that had attacked the har'nesh.

Harold Trent watched this all from the shadows of Connor's doorway. He had moved to follow his son, curious about what had happened to cause such an uproar. He had been just in time to see Connor launch himself off the railing. Shocked, to say the least, he had remained in the shadows to listen in on the conversation that was being held below him. He couldn't hear everything. What he did hear was enough to send a shiver of pure terror up his spine.

* * *

"Angel," Lilah called calmly as she strode into his office with her usual lack of announcing herself. It wasn't as if her boss was with anyone. She should know, since she was the one who protected his schedule with the tenacity of a bulldog.

Sure enough, Angel was alone in the spacious office that had once been hers. Alone and doing paper work, something that was quite surprising considering his hands-on attitude. Her esteemed boss would much rather be out fighting the forces of darkness, not going over expenditure reports.

He held up one hand, indicating that he wanted to finish whatever it was that he was working on. It took all her will power not to fidget while she waited. Fidgeting was a sign of weakness. Years of having to appear strong in order to survive the "Lawyer Eat Lawyer" world, sometimes literally, of Wolfram and Hart did not disappear just because their mission statement had changed.

Angel finally looked up at her and she unconsciously stiffened her spine. She was so not looking forward to this.

"Mr. Harold Trent is in the lobby, demanding to speak to you. Trent clerked for us when he was in law school and feels that we have violated our contract with him."

"Why bring this to me, Lilah?" Angel asked. "Isn't this the sort of thing you usually deal with?"

She couldn't prevent a slight twitch as she held out the relevant folders. "I thought that you would want to deal with this personally."

She watched as he skimmed the first folder, which contained the nature of Trent's complaint. She knew the contents of all the folders by heart.

The second folder was Trent's original contract. She had to admit that even as an intern he had been a brilliant strategist to insist on the clauses contained in the document. She wished she had been half as smart when she first signed on, but desperation over her mother's failing health had made her stupid.

Following the contract was a record of Trent's life, both personal and professional. It was standard practice for Wolfram and Hart to keep such records on each of their employees. Even those that had worked here when the LA branch was originally opened over two hundred years ago still had a folder stashed away in records. One never knew when a past misdeed would come back to haunt them.

The last folder, dead black instead of the usual manila, tied the other three together. It was the only copy of that particular file, bespelled so that only she and Angel could read it without suffering a horrible death. It contained an explanation of why the Trent family had been chosen for that particular project, a rundown of several possible scenarios that could occur if the truth ever came to light, and the justification of how they bypassed Trent's original contract.

Angel's face was set in stone when he finished the last folder. Lilah thought she knew her boss well enough to know what would come next, but waited until he gave the word anyway.

"Send him in," he stated, his voice firm.

Within minutes she had retrieved Mr. Trent from the lobby and escorted him into the inner sanctum. This time she didn't wait for instructions. She hurried out of the office and back to her desk as fast as her sensible heels could carry her.

"Mr. Trent," Angel greeted him, standing politely. "My name is Angel; I'm the new head of the LA branch of Wolfram and Hart."

They exchanged a brief handshake, something he could sense Trent was not happy about.

"Please, sit down. I understand that you believe we have broken our contract with you?" he continued once the man had settled into one of the plush chairs.

"Yes. My contract specifically stated that the firm would in no way physically or spiritually alter my children and would prevent anyone else from performing such acts. I've just come back from seeing my son, Connor. I saw him perform inhuman feats. You broke the contract."

Angel kept his face impassive throughout the short tirade. Once Trent had wound down, he regarded the man silently for a moment.

"Mr. Trent, do you love your son?"

"Of course I do."

"Despite this new evidence you have that he has been altered in some way?"

"He is still my son."

Angel sighed and looked back down at Trent's contract. The paper in front of him had one phrase heavily highlighted. The phrase that the man, the father, before him had been so careful to put it to protect his family was also the phrase that had allowed them to place Connor with his family.

"Then, sir, I suggest that you drop the matter. You son is healthy, happy, and has done nothing to change your love for him. Leave it alone."

The man glared at him, refusing to budge mentally or physically.

Angel closed his eyes briefly and cursed the circumstances that led to this confrontation and the partial truth he was going to have to feed the man who had been chosen for his honesty and integrity.

"Do you remember the clause in your contract?" he finally asked.

"Of course. I wrote it. It states that nothing will be done to physically of spiritually alter my family."

"Close," he responded, sliding the contract across the desk. "Please read the clause."

"'7.5: Wolfram and Hart and all subsidiaries and employees thereof do promise to prevent any and all physical and spiritual tampering of all blood relatives of the undersigned.' And you did something to Connor, thereby breaking the contract."

"Notice that 'blood relatives' is highlighted in the clause, Mr. Trent. We did nothing to break the contract."

Trent was suddenly still, realizing what Angel had all but said. "Blood relatives," he muttered.

"Does it matter?' the vampire asked, swearing silently that, contract or no contract, if the man rejected Connor he would rip him apart.

"No," he finally answered after a long minute. "He is still my son."

Angel nodded, pleased with the answer.

"Wh- What did you do to him?"

"I'm afraid that I can't tell you that, Mr. Trent. I assure you that your son was not harmed, though. In fact, according to my information, he is quite happy and is doing well in his studies."

Trent nodded, a light coming on in his eyes. "The company he works for, the place he lives. Warehouse Security. It's a subsidiary company, isn't it?"

"You're wondering if we're interfering with his life. We are not. Warehouse Security has no ties to Wolfram and Hart. In fact, sir, the firm is under strict orders to stay away from the boy. His…transformation was the only time the firm has ever come in contact with him. Henceforth, all contact must be initiated by him."

"Why was…"

"He altered? It was by the request of his biological father. A man who wishes to remain anonymous. I think that we can both agree that it is better that way."

The man in front of him nodded. From the looks of things, he was a bit numb. Not that Angel could blame him. It wasn't every day that you were basically told that your wife had cheated on you years before and that your son was not, in fact, yours.

Angel ignored the flash of sympathy he felt for the man and said in a business-like way, "Is there anything else you wanted, Mr. Trent? If not, Lilah will show you out."

Trent nodded once again and woodenly rose from his seat and left the office. Angel could hear Lilah talking to him in her usual brusque manner as she led him away. No doubt she would be grilling him on what he had told the man in no time.


	10. Heaven and Hell 10

The group learned that very night how vindictive Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins could be. The news that half of their friends had walked into a massacre of innocent demons was shocking, but Anya's sudden burst of energy after the story had been told a third time, once for Connor's benefit, once for Greg and Kate's, and once just to make sure they had gotten all the details, was even more surprising.

Anya had made a beeline for the spell supply closet, somehow managing to dodge both Spike and Connor despite their superior speed. Spike immediately recognized the gleam in her eye as a bad thing and tried to reason with her as she gathered ingredients and bowls, begging her to think before she acted.

"Demon-girl, think," he said. "You're human now. You can't go around turning people inside out."

Anya had sniffed disdainfully. "And why not? The son of a bitch deserves it. I recognized those demons, Spike. It took me awhile, after all I have met a lot of demons in my life, but I know what those were. They're mercenaries! Someone _paid_ them to slaughter those har'nesh. And I'm going to make him pay."

"Anya," Greg had tried to reason with her, only to flinch back at the look of horror, pain, and anger reflected in her eyes. "Anya, you don't have all the facts. It may have been a territorial dispute or something."

"It wasn'," Spike stated with certainty, his own face thoughtful. "At least, not according to the one Elder left alive. She said that they hadn't had even a small squabble in over twenty years. She had no idea why anyone would attack them."

"You said that they are hunted for their skin, correct?" Kal asked hesitantly. "It is your belief that these creatures were hired to harvest the skin of the clan?"

"Mos' likely," Spike confirmed. "Wha' would someone need tha' much for, though? Anya, pet?"

Anya looked up from where she was drawing a circle of sand. "Nothing. No spell I know of calls for more than a few ounces. So unless our guy is planning on creating a monopoly, I just don't know."

"Monopoly?" Kal questioned, not understanding how one used demon skin to make an innocuous-looking, but dreadfully confusing to a Pylean, game.

"He would be the only supplier and could name his price," Connor explained, watching the ritual preparations with some distrust.

Beside him, Spike regarded Anya with the same feeling of mild dismay that she had broken out the magicks. While he had been known to participate in a spell or two, on the whole he preferred to use his fists and wits to solve problems.

"Which would mean he'd have to slaughter every har'nesh clan in the world," Kate pointed out. "That would be rather difficult, wouldn't it?"

There was no reasoning with the distraught former demon, though. Even pointing out that she had never had much luck when it came to casting spells. Spike trotted out the story Willow had told him about her vampire double and Anya's part in her transference. He reminded her that the one time she had helped with a locator spell she had set her carpet on fire. He brought forth her participation in the disaster that was the slayer's resurrection.

"Those were all Willow's fault," she dismissed as she continued to arrange her components. "I turned Olaf into a troll. Turning our mystery man into something equally hideous should be no problem." Silently she prayed that Spike knew nothing of what she had named "The Bunny Fiasco."

"Anya," Greg tried. "At least wait until tomorrow. Sleep on it for the night."

"Yeah, pet. Count your money. It'll help calm you down."

Anya turned on them, her eyes flashing with absolute fury. "Money? Money?" She opened her mouth to berate them for their ignorance when a sudden thought struck her.

"Money!" she screamed before dashing back to the supply closet and grabbing a few more vials. "You're brilliant, Spike. Absolutely brilliant."

"I know that, pet," he announced, ignoring the exasperated looks the others shot his way. "What has my brilliant mind come up with now?"

"You're right; I shouldn't turn him inside out or make his privates constantly explode. Instead, I'm going to get him where he'll really feel it: his bank account."

Greg exchanged quick glances with the rest of the companions before coming to a decision. "I can't believe I'm going to say this. But, you're not going to physically harm anyone, so… What can I do to help?"

In the end, they all helped with the curse that emptied the bank account of the last person who hired the demons. The money was sent to numerous charitable organizations, a clause that had been written into the original spell to insure that no one could use it for personal gain.

A week later came Kate's mandatory "leave of absence" from the police force. Minds clouded by the normal human survival instinct to forget anything that they could not fit into their perfect little worlds, the rest of the force once again believed that she had had a nervous breakdown.

Greg, luckily for Kate's peace of mind, had already discussed the inevitable dismissal with Spike and the two of them had hashed out a plan to keep their friend occupied and feeling useful. They were greatly hampered by her continued lack of full mobility due to the cast and her dislike of academics. They finally settled her with Connor, who had come up with the idea of replacing the metal pellets contained in rat shot with wooden ones.

Now, after six weeks of forced semi-confinement, Kate groused as she sat in the front passenger seat of her car. "I can drive myself, you know?"

Greg shot her a look that simply stated that he did not want to have to go over the argument with her once again. He was driving and that was it.

Connor contained a smirk from the back seat. Demon attacks had increased significantly over the past weeks, both against the populace at large and against the group of friends. They had used all of their underworld contacts, but none of them knew who was directing the attacks. Even Wolfram and Hart came up against a brick wall when they searched for a reason behind the hostilities.

While the attacks had not escalated to the point where they felt that no one should go out alone, Greg still insisted on escorting Kate everywhere. He _said_ it was because Kate was still out of the fight because of the cast, but Connor had seen the looks the older man shot the cop when she wasn't looking. The looks contained worry, yes, but also a hint of admiration.

The subtle change in the man's smell when Kate walked into a room was even more telling to the young man. He knew that the two weren't intimate, he had learned the smell of _that_ quickly enough when he was still in the dorms. But Greg was definitely interested.

Connor, for his part, was tagging along in order to grab lunch with his latest girlfriend, who was a candy striper at the hospital. Valerie was completely unaware of the world he had found himself living in. At times it was a relief, to be able to talk to her about "normal" things. At the same time, he often wished that he could tell her about a particular demon he had went ten rounds with, or could answer her questions regarding the bruises he sometimes sported. While his healing ability was phenomenal, it wasn't instantaneous.

He was pulled from his musings on his girlfriend and her possible reaction to the other side of LA – he decided she would call the nice men with the big butterfly nets for him – by the fact that they had arrived at the hospital. They quickly piled out of the car and went their separate ways, Kate and Greg heading for her doctor's office while he went in search of his girlfriend.

"Watch it, kid," a gravelly-voiced man told him several minutes later as he roughly shouldered Connor aside. Connor glared at his back as he continued moving away and wondered what about the man had smelled so familiar. Not just the man's base scent, but an overlying scent of salt and… Dog? No, something a wilder than that.

Connor shrugged the encounter off, putting it out of his mind the moment he turned the corner and saw Valerie staring out a window, a frown gracing her beautiful face. He took a moment to admire her, enchanted as ever by her features. She had chocolate brown hair with deep blue eyes and a nose she called long and he dubbed elegant. She stood only a few inches shorter than his own 5'10," a height he had quickly decided was perfect.

"Deep thoughts?" he asked as he placed his chin on her shoulder. He barely avoided biting his tongue as she jumped in reaction.

"Connor!" she yelled as she whirled around, smacking one hand against his chest.

"Sorry. I thought you had heard me."

"Need to get you a bell," she mumbled before gracing him with a wide smile and kissing him soundly on the lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd treat you to lunch. Even if it's in the hospital cafeteria. You can get away for awhile, can't you?"

She hesitated, obviously running through the list of duties she had left to perform. "Yeah, I think so. But only for about half an hour. Then I have to get back to my oh-so-important job of delivering flowers and files."

He smiled in pleasure, thrilled to get even that much time with his busy girlfriend. "Great," he replied as he led her away.

* * *

"Why are you here?" Anya asked as they strolled down Rodeo Drive.

"Because you told me that if I didn' come window shoppin' with you, you'd rip off my manly parts and feed 'em to me. From the wrong direction," Spike answered, curling his tongue up over his teeth to show her that he was just teasing. Though, that was the wording of the threat she had issued.

She rolled her eyes and huffed out a sigh that would have made any teenager proud and poked one slim finger into his bicep, which for once wasn't covered by his trademark black duster.

"No, why are you still in LA? I figured once you'd talked to Buffy, found out where she was, you'd be gone faster than a donut in Harris's sight range. Oh, I like that dress. Do you think it would make me look fat?"

"Demon-girl, that is a question you should never ask a man."

"Why you aren't running off to be with your soul mate? Kate told me about the mark. It's very rare for true soul mates to find one another, you know. I've only heard about a handful of couples in twelve hundred years."

"Not time yet. Can't really explain it, pet. I just know that it's not time for us to be together. We both still have a few things to do."

"Will it make me look fat?" she asked again, her attention once again on the dress displayed in the window.

"You'd be beautiful in sackcloth and ashes. In that dress, you'd be spectacular."

Anya nodded her head before continuing down the sunny street. Her companion trailed behind her, enjoying the sunshine.

"What do you have to do?" she asked once he had caught up to her once again. She dismissed the leather pants in the window in front of her as too slayer-ish and instead looked at Spike.

"Not sure, really. Just… Stuff, I guess."

"Well, what kind of 'stuff' have you already done?"

"Since I came back or since the marks showed up?"

"Both," she said decisively as they moved to the next shop.

"Well, I saved you," he pointed out.

"Yay," she stated tonelessly. "The Scooby Gang can be all together again sometime in the future."

"Missing Harris?"

"No," she said after a moment. "Well, in a way, yes. I miss him as a friend, not as a significant other. Miss the orgasms. But my new vibrator does almost as well. It's amazing how far they've come in a hundred years."

"We're not part of the Scoobies," he pointed out, rocking back on his heels. "We're the add-ons."

"Like Oliver Brady," she agreed before coming to a sudden revelation. "We're Scrappy!"

Seeing the confused look on Spike's face, she explained her thought process. "Everyone hated Scrappy after they brought him in. And everyone knows that the introduction of a new, cute, and younger character is the death knell of a show. It's a sure sign that they've jumped the shark."

"Not exactly young, pet," he pointed out as they once again moved windows. "I like that lamp. Do ya think it'd look right in my bedroom?"

"No, not enough color definition. We are cute, though."

"I always thought it was the special guest stars that did it," he continued, still studying the lamp.

"Buffy would hate it," she pointed out, only to see him raise an eyebrow in challenge. "She would. And then you'd have to be all manly about it being your lamp and by God you're going to keep the sodding thing when all the while you want to throw it away because you never liked it that much and it would make her happy."

Feeling as if that explained everything, she grabbed his arm and pulled him further down the street, this time to the window of an art gallery.

"Oh, look, Kokopelli," she pointed out.

"Should get it for the Nibblet," Spike mused. "She hated the fact that Buffy gave theirs away when Willow went off the magicks."

"Hmmm. You would not believe the number of women who wanted me to curse him. I tried to explain to them that he was just an honest demon, doing his part to resurrect his species, but no… It was all 'rip his penis off' and 'I wish he'd feel the same pain I do.'"

"Haven't heard this story," he stated as he led her into the shop.

"Yeah. Poor guy's whole species was wiped out around 200. He spent the next millennium seducing as many girls as he could find, and trust me, there were a lot, and having as many spawn as possible."

"Did it work?" he asked as he looked around for a salesman.

"Last time I talked to him – around 1780, I guess – he bragged about having over a million grandkids. He had retired to the top of a butte in Arizona and was living quite happily doting on all the babies."

Ten minutes later they exited the shop after arranging for Kokopelli's delivery to the Warehouse.

"What else _have_ you done?" Anya questioned again, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation.

"Saved a few people, killed a few demons. The usual."

"No apocalypses?"

"Nope. At least, none I deliberately averted."

"So," she drawled as they studied one window display that seemed to have the mannequins doing something illegal in 48 states and the District of Columbia. "Why are you here?"

"Is that even possible?" he mused, cocking his head to one side as he tried to figure out if it was possible for a woman to bend that far.

"Only if you do yoga," Anya said. "Or if you're a slayer. I'm sure Buffy could manage it. There are many positions that are more comfortable."

Spike looked from the mannequin that had been bent backwards over the arm of a chair until its head almost touched the floor, a book positioned so that the imaginary person could read the words.

"You are happy to be back, aren' you?" he asked, studying her carefully. He would hate it if Anya felt the same way he knew Buffy had.

"I wasn't dead long enough to go to either Heaven or Hell," she said with a shrug. "Or, at least, if I did go to one or the other, I don't remember it. I just remember D'Hoffryn torturing me."

A passing shopper gave them an odd look upon hearing Anya's pronouncement. Both of the resurrected demons ignored her.

"How about you?"

Spike gave a laconic shrug. "I thought I was done, you know? I thought sacrificing myself was the ultimate act of redemption. I guess the Powers, or whoever rules over things like that, felt otherwise."

"That's why you're still here," she said with sudden understanding, looking up into his cautious eyes. "You're still trying to prove yourself to Buffy, aren't you? You're trying to prove that you can be a good man even without her being there to ride herd on you."

Spike winced at her announcement, but had to consider that it might not be too far off the mark.

"Maybe, Demon-girl," he acknowledged before turning back to the window art. This time he twisted his head to the opposite side as he tried to figure out if a human could drink water while standing on his head.

* * *

Xander entered the club and was immediately assaulted by the sights and sounds of well over a hundred party goers smushed into a too-small space. The club, a popular hangout for the up-and-coming set, was packed to the point that he hoped a fire marshal didn't decide to drop by.

He slowly bobbed and weaved through the masses, grateful for the loss of the few extra pounds he had been sporting for the past few years. When Clara had suggested the South Beach Diet for him, he had been hesitant, but he had to admit that his nutritionist girlfriend had been right. He looked and felt better than he had since his very public breakup with Anya.

Finally spotting his friends at a table situated at the back of the club, Xander continued to make his way through the gyrating bodies. He got to the table in time for Kennedy to give him a short wave before dragging her reluctant girlfriend onto the floor. His eyes trailed them for a moment as he sat down, not wanting to deal with the question that would inevitably be asked.

"Hey, Xan-man," Dawn piped as she stopped by the table long enough to take a drink of water. A husky young man hovered behind her, ready to resume dancing again. He did his duty as adopted older brother and glared at the boy, warning him to watch where his hands strayed. It was only the rare brotherly moments that he regretted giving up the eye patch in favor for the less obvious glass eye. The patch came in handy for scaring away horny teens.

"Where's Clara?" Dawn continued, ignoring the over protective brother routine.

Xander could feel Buffy's gaze transfer from the dance floor to him. He tried not to shift uncomfortably as he told his lie.

"She… Uh… She had an emergency come up at work. Something about a client who had fallen off her plan in a spectacular way. She said she'd try to get here later."

Dawn nodded in acceptance and moved off with her boyfriend of the month. If he hadn't have been looking directly at Willow at that moment, he never would have noticed her sudden stillness. The stillness that always signaled that she was communicating telepathically.

He sighed as his red-headed friend abandoned her girlfriend and made a bee line for the table. He barely had time to order a beer from the waitress who popped up at his elbow before she was sitting across from him, a serious expression adorning her face. A quick look in Buffy's direction revealed a similar expression.

"You know," he said. "I figured 'Hey, since I always attract the demons anyway, why not just go for it? Surely I'd be able to have a meaningful, long lasting relationship with one.' What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing, Sweety," Willow said, laying one hand on top of his. "Absolutely nothing."

"What happened," Buffy questioned, her own hand taking his free one.

"She said she needed someone who could focus on her," he said with a shrug. "Apparently, I spend too much time fighting the good fight and hanging with you guys."

"Oh, Xan," his blonde friend sighed, tightening her grip on his hand.

"Are you sure you can't just wave your hand and make me gay?" he questioned Willow. "I think I've run through all the demon women in the area. Might as well get dumped by the guys, too."

The two girls exchanged amused glances at this sorrowful pronouncement.

"You could always go after Andrew," Buffy said, trying to suppress a snicker. The warrior who had fought countless minions of evil lost this particular battle, though.

Xander groaned and banged his head on the table. He lifted his now sore head just in time to receive his beer, and an odd look, from the waitress. It wasn't enough to drag his thoughts away from the memory of Andrew's "documentary" of slayer life before the final battle. The gang had all ribbed him mercilessly over the fact that the geek had ignored the highly erotic sight of two girls making out to expound on Xander's carpentry skills.

"My life sucks," he moaned before taking a drink.

"It could be worse," Willow pointed out, rubbing one hand up and down his back. "You could still be dating Cordelia."

"She wouldn't be able to break up with me," he stated.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "But girls in mystical comas? Not the greatest of conversationalists."

"Plus there's the whole no smoochy factor," Kennedy said as she came up and proceeded to kiss her own girlfriend. "Life's no fun without smoochies."

"I'll second that," Willow agreed, wrinkling her nose at the dark-haired slayer.

"Maybe a vampire," Xander mused, mostly under his breath. "Never dated a vamp before. And Buffy could give me pointers."

His ramblings were cut short by Buffy's hand connecting with the back of his head. He grinned apologetically at her and took another drink of his beer.

"Maybe you just need a break from relationships," Kennedy suggested. "Of either persuasion. Let things settle."

"You never really took the time to grieve for Anya," Buffy pointed out a little distractedly. She had thought she had caught a glimpse of Dawn dancing in an entirely inappropriate way and was now searching the moving bodies in an effort to find her again.

"Buffy does have a point," Willow agreed. "Anya died and you found out about Cordy all within a couple of days. That's bound to knock someone for a loop. Maybe you _should_ take a break, get your head on straight."

"Maybe," he said with a sigh. "It's not like I lack for female companionship," he said with a smirk, gathering both of his girls into a quick hug. "Speaking of my girls, how have you two been?"

"Good," both answered promptly. It had been hard adjusting to the fact that their male friend had moved over an hour away, both girls had eventually reconciled to the fact that he wasn't libel to pop over with donuts at random points during the day. He still made the trip every weekend, staying in Kennedy and Willow's guest room and loading up on Scooby goodness before journeying back to his lonely apartment in Paramus, New Jersey.

For a time he had thought that Clara would be the one to make the apartment less lonely. Their four month relationship, while lacking the depth of feeling present in his last, and only, two serious relationships, was comfortable. He couldn't help but give a wry grin at that thought. He had settled with Clara, and she had made it a point to tell him that as she broke up with him.

"Anything major happen this week?"

"Nope," Buffy replied. "Normal, boring patrols. No interesting demons. Trators!" she added suddenly as Dawn dragged her boyfriend back to the table.

"Demonstrators?" the boy asked, looking confused.

"Yeah… Uh… The academy was picketed last week by a group of people who said I was corrupting youth by teaching them the ways of violence. Total wack jobs."

The boy, Ryan, nodded but kept any and all thoughts to himself. He had heard rumors of what had happened to Dawn's last boyfriend after he had gotten a little too fresh… _After_ he had gotten out of the hospital from the concussion and dislocated shoulder Dawn had administered to him. And while he didn't _really_ believe that Buffy had held the boy upside-down by his ankles off the roof of a twenty story building, he had decided early into the relationship that he wouldn't press his luck.

"So, we're looking at another boring weekend in The City, huh? You know, its times like these I almost miss Spike's snarky comments."

"Spike?" Ryan asked, turning to his girlfriend. He didn't notice the look of panic she sent him or the frantic head shaking of Willow over Dawn's shoulder. "That's the guy you're going out to LA to see at Christmas, right?"

Willow's eyes had gotten impossibly large as she shot a nervous look at Xander. Buffy and Kennedy had gone completely still while Dawn burst into nervous energy.

"LA for Christmas?" she asked, he voice an octave higher than normal. "What gave you that idea? Hehe… Time to dance! Bye!"

Xander watched he drag the confused young man onto the floor and turned to focus on his blonde best friend. "You're going to LA for Christmas?" he asked neutrally.

"Uh… Yeah. I was going to tell you. I just… Hadn't yet?"

"And you're going to see Spike? Our Spike? Bleached hair, leather coat, bad attitude, dead, Spike?"

"Eh… Not so dead..." Willow ventured.

"And living in LA," he stated, confused and a bit upset that his best friends had apparently forgotten to mention this tidbit. "How long have you known?"

"Uh… How long have we known?" Buffy hedged. "A month. Maybe five weeks."

One look was all it took for Xander to know that Buffy wasn't being all together truthful. Despite all her years as the slayer, she had the worst poker face in the world. It was one of the reasons that she sucked at undercover work.

"How long have you known?" he repeated, his own face set in a serious expression.

"He e-mailed me in March," Willow confessed, wincing when he turned his furious gaze on her. "We didn't know if it was a sick hoax at first or what. We had Angel look into it."

"You told Angel and not me?"

"They knew how you'd react," Kennedy interjected with her usual bluntness. It was her opinion that when something needed to be said, it was better to say it than to beat around the bush. The situation she saw in front of her just went to prove her point. It could have been avoided if they had just told the carpenter from the beginning that there was a possibility that the vamp was back.

Xander's expression closed off as he drained his beer and pushed back from the table. "Well, I obviously know where I'm not wanted," he stated as he walked away. Buffy and Willow exchanged glances before racing after him.

"Xan," Buffy said, catching hold of his arm. Willow grabbed his other arm and hung on for dear life, terrified that her childhood friend would leave and never return.

"You know that guy thing where we leave in the middle of an upsetting conversation? It doesn't work so well if you follow me." Seeing the worried expressions on their faces, he sighed but never-the-less shook off their grips. "I just need some alone time. To think this through. I'm not going to abandon my favorite ladies. I promise."

Both girls nodded and watched him walk away.


	11. Heaven and Hell 11

**AN:** Special thanks to Dawn, who allowed me to gripe about the fact that this scene was causing me to have writer's block and offered up a few suggestions for Kate's ultimate excuse.

* * *

With the others involved in their own relationships, or in the case of Greg and Kate, their non-relationship, the ex-vengeance demon and former monarch of Pylea often found themselves lacking in other companionship. So, it came as no surprise that Anya and Kal gravitated towards one another.

They started with a weekly ritual of discussing Kal's latest reading work over a beverage once his skills improved enough so that he had almost complete understanding of the books. While he wasn't up to the level of Shakespeare as of yet, he was progressing along nicely with "Charlotte's Web" and other books of a similar level. It had taken Anya the longest time to explain to him that the characters were make-believe and that spiders and pigs didn't really talk. After that long and frustrating conversation she had decided to direct his reading list away from science fiction and fantasy. The last thing she wanted to do was to chase after him as he went searching for orcs or dragons.

It was during one of their talks over warm mugs of Mock-na that Kal revealed to his friend the secret he had been holding close to his chest. He, Champion of Pylea, fearless warrior, and grown man was, much to his shame, homesick.

Anya was shocked to learn that he had not visited his mother in over two years. Many of their talks, which had soon became a nightly occurrence, centered around the mother that he simply adored. Despite his constant travels, before coming to Earth, he had visited her every few months. During his short reign as king he had visited her weekly.

Anya wasted no time in dragging the reluctant warrior in front of Greg to demand that he have time off to return home. Kal, for his part, protested the action strenuously.

"Anya, attacks have risen even more in the past month, you know this," he pointed out as she pulled him towards where Greg and Kate were very obviously not looking at each other. "I can not possibly leave now."

"Hush," she had simply scolded before coming to a stop in front of Greg's chair.

"Kal needs to go home," she stated, keeping a firm grip on her friend's arm as she looked their leader in the eye.

"Is there something wrong?" Greg calmly asked.

"No," Kal said at the same time that Anya answered in the affirmative.

"He hasn't been home in over two years," she explained. "He's homesick."

Greg wisely chose to ignore the embarrassed flush that came to Kal's face at the pronouncement. It was amazing that he didn't blush over Anya's bald sexual references but could be embarrassed by things that would have no effect on most humans.

"Demon activity is up," he reminded them, indicating the book he had been pretending to read. It was a lexicon of demonic behavior. He had been pretending to research the reason behind the activity explosion when his friends had decided to interrupt.

"One month," Anya demanded.

"No, it's been bad longer than that," he said, deliberately misunderstanding her.

She growled softly before rephrasing her demand. "Let him go home for one month."

"Anya," Kal ventured, trying to interrupt. He really didn't want to leave his compatriots in the lurch.

"Couldn't spare him for more than a couple of days," Greg said, trying not to smile. He knew how Anya loved to negotiate. He hoped he helped make her day by fighting over how much time off their friend should receive.

"A couple of days?" she screeched, drawing the attention of Spike, who was passing through on his way to make his daily call to the slayer and her sister. Curious, he came over to see what the hubbub was about.

"He couldn't get to her farm in a couple of days," she argued, stretching the truth. She knew that Kal had learned the secret of opening a portal between the two worlds to within one hundred yards of his intended destination. Greg didn't need to know that, not if it meant more time off for her "client."

"Four days, then. That'll give him time to get there, give her a kiss, and leave."

"Three weeks. Anything less is an insult."

"Two, and only if you two agree not to drink Mock-na in the common room anymore. The smell makes Spike and Connor nauseas."

Anya considered this compromise for a moment before conceding. Drinking the Pylean stress reducer in one of their suites could lead to other stress relieving activities, after all.

"Done," she agreed before turning triumphantly to Kal. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Com'on, we need to get you packed. And, we need to figure out a way for you to transport some Plockweed back so that we can have real Mock-na. Perhaps a small plant if we can figure out how you can carry it without your arms getting scratched to ribbons."

She practically bounced up the stairs, towing Kal along in her wake. Spike and Greg watched them go with slight smiles on their faces while Kate frowned severely.

"You have no right to limit his trip," she scolded, glaring at the startled Greg. "You're not actually his employer and this isn't the military."

Spike, sensing the flair up of arguing, decided that it was the perfect time to call his girls. Dawn would just be getting home from school and Buffy wouldn't be busy cooking dinner before heading to the self-defense academy. He quietly slipped up the stairs behind Kal and Anya, forgotten by the combatants below.

"I'm well aware of that, thank you. If he had come to me and asked for time off, I would have told him to take as long as he wanted. But you know Anya. She has to argue over everything. I think she does it to keep her business skills sharp."

"If he had _asked_ you? Who died and made you god?"

"No one," he said, refusing to respond to the tone she was using. "But, you did agree that I'd be the leader of this little group. We talked about it right before we moved, remember? You chose me to be the one who makes all the hard decisions. So far, I haven't needed to. But, if Kal leaving risked the life of anyone who lived here, I'd ask that he stay in a heartbeat."

Kate glared at him. "Ask? Don't you mean demand?"

"You're cranky today," he observed, changing the conversation with apparent randomness.

"I'm not cranky," she snapped in reply.

"It's just a date," he said, unfazed by the attitude she was copping.

"There is no date. There will never be a date."

"Why not?"

She sighed in exasperation at his calm tone. "Beyond the fact that we're both going to 'live fast, die young, and leave a mutilated corpse?' How about the fact that I'm seven years older than you?"

"So, people will thing you got yourself a hot stud," he joked. "Besides, if anything, I look older than you."

She studied him for a moment, taking in his graying dark hair, the scar that marred his face, and the little lines that radiated out from the corners of his eyes. He did look older than his twenty-seven years.

"I'm a suspended cop with issues," she stated a little triumphantly.

"I barely graduated from high school and have plenty of issues of my own," he countered.

"I'm an alcoholic."

"I killed my best friend." She looked at him in surprise. "He was a vampire at the time, but, you know, in a way it doesn't matter. He was still my friend and I'm responsible for killing him. So, why won't there be a date?"

She rose from her chair and stalked to the door, feeling his eyes following her the whole way. She opened the door and stepped into the opening, restraining herself from dashing out into the safety of the world at large. She gave an indelicate snort at that thought. The world, with demons, ghouls, and human scum was safer than facing the possibility of a relationship with a handsome man who understood her. How was that for life's little ironies?

"Because I say," she said before walking into the sunlight, letting the heavy door slam behind her.

* * *

Exactly fifteen days later, Spike strode through the office of Angel's zombie guard dog, sweeping her aside casually as she tried to hold him back. He idly wondered, as he swung open the double doors to the inner office, what force in the universe kept dragging him back into the questionable presence of his grandsire.

"Out," he growled to the occupants of Angel's office, earning a glare from the big man himself. A nod from Angel released the three humans and five gharrwie demons from their positions around the room and they all hurried past him. One gharrwie, a female, by the length of the tentacles, gave him either a sensuous or a challenging look. Either one, he decided, would prove less than wise to respond to. Even if he wasn't devoted to Buffy, gharrwiens had a nasty habit of eating lovers from other species – and not in the pleasant way. They were also fierce fighters, so much so that even if he was looking for a spot of violence he wouldn't tangle with one.

Lilah was climbing unsteadily to her feet behind him, leaning against the wall that now had a zombie-shaped dent in it. If she had still been alive he would have been forced to feel guilt over the force he had used to get past her. Luckily for him, she was quite dead.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Spike?" Angel asked, leaning back in his massive leather chair. He seemed unperturbed by the younger man's presence.

"I need to know how to get to Pylea."

Angel remained silent, patiently waiting for him to give a reason.

"Rex went to visit his mum. He was supposed to be back yesterday."

Angel frowned, his gigantic forehead wrinkling up until it approached something like normal. "You interrupted a very important meeting, a meeting that was set up to try to settle a very bloody territorial dispute that has lasted for four centuries, no less, because Groo is _late_?"

"No," he snapped as he stalked to the wide desk and leaned over it menacingly. "I interrupted you because _Kal_, whom you should know would never be late unless 'e's seriously in trouble, didn' come back when 'e was scheduled to. Now, are you goin' to 'elp me or am I goin' to have to rip this bloody buildin' apart until I find someone who will?"

A cracking sound momentarily drew Angel's attention away from Spike's tirade. He was only mildly surprised to find that the wood beneath Spike's fingers had splintered into tiny shards. The younger demon seemed unaware of the fact that he was mutilating the desk that had once stood in the Marquis de Sade's study.

"All right," Angel said calmly, looking back up from the desk. "What do you need from me?"

"I _need_ from you, you tigh'-assed sod, a way to get to Pylea and find out wha' the bloody 'ell is happenin.'" He sneered over the word need but never-the-less plowed on.

"Then you need to talk to our Pylean expert," he said, rising from the chair and rounding the desk. Luckily, for the sake of his desk, Spike followed him away from the abused piece of furniture.

"Fine. Where is the poofy demon?"

"Not Lorne," Angel explained, leading him past the still wobbly Lilah and out of the executive office. "His arrival on Earth was an accident. Even if he knew how to open a portal he wouldn't. To him, Pylea is the worst hell dimension ever. No, you need Fred."

"The li'le mouse?"

"Not so much of a mouse, actually. She's a wiz at opening portals. It has something to do with the portal's mathematical properties, trionic what-evers. I don't understand it myself. Actually getting a guide, on the other hand, is an all together different situation. Both Fred and Lorne refuse to set one foot in the dimension again. Fred was a slave there for five years, so you can hardly blame her."

Spike grunted as they entered an elevator and Angel pushed the button he could only assume led to the tiny Texan.

"Have a guide," he stated, his accent returning to something approaching educated as his temper cooled. When dealing with Angelus, his temper was directly proportional to how much of an arse his elder was being.

Angel shot him a curious look at the pronouncement, but refrained from asking about the alleged guide as the elevator dinged and opened into a sterile hallway. He led the bleached blonde through a nearby door.

Once inside, Spike took a moment to look around his new surroundings. The smell of chemicals, gas, and disinfectant hung heavily in the air, reminding him of the Initiative and the weeks he had spent locked in one of their cages. It was enough to make his hackles rise.

The room itself was fairly spacious with lab benches placed an even distance apart. Each bench had at least one scientist at it, each so absorbed in his or her own work that no one looked up as they passed by.

Angel led him to the middle of the lab, where Fred was bent over a microscope. Another scientist hovered over her shoulder, projecting an air of both awe and possessiveness. Spike wasn't sure if he was possessive of the chit or the thing she was looking at.

"And it grew that much after only an hour?" the woman asked her companion, moving from the microscope to make a notation in a nearby notebook. "You didn't add anything to the mix, did you, Knox?"

"Of course not, Fred," the young man said. Something about his voice sent a chill up Spike's spine.

"Good," she said, shooting him a pleased smile. The man's smell gained the slight alteration that indicated he was firmly in lust with the female scientist.

"Fred," Angel interrupted, somehow managing to keep the smirk out of his voice. "You remember Spike."

Both eggheads turned to look at their boss. Spike got his first real look at the man and his grave-walking goose started to dance a jig up and down his spine.

"Do I know you?" he asked the curly-haired scientist, only to receive an open and friendly smile in return.

"Not that I know of. I'm Braeden Knox." Knox held out his hand in expectation of a handshake. Spike, a bit spooked by the feeling of unease he had, refused to accept the hand.

While he was distracted with Knox, Fred had emitted a squeak and dived behind the questionable safety of Angel. When he turned his attention back to her, she peered fearfully out from behind her boss's broad back.

"Is he going to threaten again?' she asked warily.

"I'm sure Spike will behave," Angel reassured her. "He's here for our help. You might even get a chance to run a few tests on him, if you negotiate right."

The wispy woman perked up considerably at this bit of information. Spike's fiercest glare couldn't even dissuade her from bubbling about drawing blood and running CAT scans.

"What do you need?' she finally asked after he allowed her to draw a bit of blood and to swab the inside of his mouth for skin samples.

"Need to get to Pylea," he told her, not bothering to go into detail.

Angel, on the other hand, frowned at his terseness and explained to the scientist the reason behind the request.

"Um, I hate to be the one to bring this up," Knox said from where he was hovering over Fred's shoulder. "But isn't it possible that he decided to stay?"

Spike frowned at the man, but kept a firm reign on his temper. He needed these people's help after all.

"Rex isn't the type to do that. So, what do you say, Mouse, will you help?"

Fred frowned at the nickname, but nodded her head and began bustling around the lab, gathering notebooks and pens. "It'll take me a couple of days to get all the calculations down. Do you have any idea where in Pylea you want to end up?"

"The Royal Palace should be fine. Rex said his mum's place is within walking distance."

The young woman pulled a pen, one of a multitude, from her hair and scribbled the information down. "And I assume that you want an incantation for coming back?"

"Would be nice," he deadpanned.

"Mmm hmm. How many people are you taking? For that matter, do you have a method of getting everyone to the same place?"

"Four there, at least five back. Rex may decide that his mum should move to LA. And I assumed we'd just walk through the portal."

"Oh, no," she explained, doing some quick calculations in the notebook. Spike took a peak at them and his eyes crossed trying to understand the complex math. "Knox, get me the _Trionic Hypothesis_ book, please. Separate entities that go through a portal, even one that is designed to open at a certain place, will not arrive at the same place. You could be at the palace and your friends could be scattered all over the dimension. Or, one of your friends could be at the palace and you could end up at the Scum Pits of Ur or some place else that you really don't want to be."

She took a moment to take a deep breath before launching into her explanation once again. "Angel used his car to get everyone to and fro in one go. No separations. It was a good thing, but I never could figure out why a vampire drove a convertible.

"Anyway, if any of your friends are vampires… They're not, are they? They don't have to worry about the sun. The Pylean sun's light waves don't react with vampire physiology the same way Earth's sun does. But, you might want to warn them not to go all Grrr. When the vampire comes out, it's the pure demon, not the watered down version you see on Earth. Called a van-tal. Very hard to control. Angel lost control; it was scary."

Angel cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Spike, for his part, just smirked at his elder.

"So, a car works pretty well," the slim scientist continued. "I think chaining everyone together might work as well, but then you have no way of carrying weapons and clothes and stuff. There's also the whole 'what happens if you're attacked as you come out of the portal' question. Plus, chains: not actually as much fun as you would think."

Knox, who was just returning with a very large book, heard her last comment and stumbled, sending the book to the floor with a loud "whap!" The sound of the massive book hitting the tiled floor was enough that all the scientists in the room looked up from their work and stared.

"Oh, dear. Knox, are you OK?" Fred helped the red-faced scientist to his feet before rambling off again. "Pyleans don't keep humans as slaves anymore, not since Cordy emancipated them, but there's still lots of other things you have to look out for, so weapons are definitely a must. Come back the day after tomorrow and I'll have the incantations ready. Do you have a power source?"

"Power source?"

"Yeah, portals need quite a bit of power to open. There's hotspots all over the city that you can use, but a power source really would be better. Quicker, at least. Especially when you want to come back. While we can pinpoint several hotspots for you to use here in LA, in Pylea you would be on your own."

"I'll loan them a Didio Sphere," Angel told her. "That will be enough for two portals, right?"

"Three or four, actually. Which will be helpful in case of emergencies. Now, where do you want to end up when you come back?"

"There's a park off Elm Street. That should be enough to keep civilians out of the way."

Fred nodded absently, once again scribbling in the notebook. He waited for a few more moments to be sure that she needed no other information from him before following Angel out of the lab. Once in the clear air of the hallway, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Stop by my office when you come for the incantation," his elder told him, leading him once again into the elevator. "I'll have the Didio Sphere ready for you." He paused for a beat, shooting Spike a side-long glance. "I'm actually surprised that you're accepting it, actually."

"Doin' it for Rex, no other reason, Peaches."

Angel nodded in understanding. "Then you won't get huffy if I offer to have your territory covered while you're gone?"

Spike was silent for a moment, considering the offer. "Let me talk it over with my mates. I'll let you know our decision when I come back."

Angel nodded in understanding and exited the elevator once again, this time at the main lobby. Spike nodded almost companionably to him before striding past him and out into the sun shine.

* * *

"I hate this," Connor sulked two days later as he stood beside the big SUV the group had bought for the trip. The roof of the Suburban had several holes rusted through, but it was big enough to sit the entire Warehouse group, sans Connor, and enough gear for a week with a little room to spare.

"I know," Greg said sympathetically as he stood by the driver's door. Spike was busy rummaging around in the back of the vehicle, making sure that he had brought his favorite ax, which left him the job of smoothing ruffled teenaged feathers. "But we don't know how long we'll be gone for. You can't risk failing all your classes and wasting this semester. Besides, we need someone to look after things."

Connor snorted. "Yeah, right. Which is why you've demanded that I let Wolfram and Hart patrol." Spike was now wrestling with Anya over the placement of weapons verses clothes. Anya seemed to think that it was outrageous that Spike was more worried about having easy access to the weapons than about how wrinkled their clothing would get.

"No, we asked that you accept their help," Kate said as she walked around the hood of the vehicle. She pointedly ignored Greg, which earned her a wry grin from the older man.

He watched her climb into the back seat of the vehicle before turning back to his friend. "Don't worry about it, Connor. I'm sure you and the guy from Wolfram and Hart will get along just fine." Spike, overhearing the comment during a break in Anya's tirade, snorted loud enough for their leader to hear. "Spike himself told me that Gunn was an OK guy."

"I did no such thing!" the former vampire yelped, abandoning his argument with Anya. He snatched up his ax and strode over to the pair. "I said he was a bloody wanker of a werecat who thinks way too much of himself."

"Like I said, an OK guy," Greg quipped, receiving a glare and muttered comments about him being a "bloody idiot" as Spike crossed to the passenger side, having called shotgun earlier, much to the dismay of Anya.

"I still say I should have shotgun," she complained as she joined Kate in the back seat. "I get motion sickness when I ride in the rear."

"And I told you," Spike replied. "That since I'm the one that has to read this bloody incantation, I need to be in front."

"Oh, right. Like reading a piece of paper is that hard," she snarked.

"So says the woman who apparently produced mass amounts of rabbits the last time she got a hold of a spell book."

"I'm going to kill Giles," she muttered, casting a glare at the Brit.

Greg smirked, silently laughing at his friends' antics before turning back to Connor. He wanted to ask the young man if he was sure he'd be fine on his own and to make sure to tell the team from Wolfram and Hart where he was planning on patrolling. He resisted the urge, remembering how prideful he had been at that age and how he would have resented anyone treating him like a kid.

"Fish, we should get this band of buggered moving, 'ey? We have a bit of a walk."

"I know, Spike," he answered, having went over the slight change of plans earlier. In order to insure that no unsuspecting demons got caught in the portal, Fred had designed it so that they would be spit out in a nearby field.

"Charver, you have the letter to my girls, right?"

"I'll send it off first thing in the morning," he said with a nod.

"Good, good. An' you have the slayer's number, just in case?"

"Yes, Spike."

"An' the –"

"Com'on, Spike," Greg interrupted, much to the relief of their youngest member. For someone who was the Big Bad, the former vampire was a notorious worrywart when it came to people he cared about.

Greg climbed into the cab of the big vehicle and shut the door behind him before waving goodbye to their remaining friend. He carefully buckled his seatbelt before starting the engine, an action which produced a chuckle from Spike.

"We're barely goin' to be movin,' Fish," he pointed out.

"We're traveling to another dimension," Greg shot back. "If that isn't dangerous travel, I don't know what it. You should buckle up, too."

His friend rolled his eyes but did as he suggested, much to Greg's relief.

"Let's do this," he said, taking a deep breath and starting the engine. Spike nodded and pulled out a scrap of paper and a small ball on a chain. It would have looked like a normal piece of jewelry, perhaps one of those mustard seed good luck charms but for the odd brown light it emitted.

Spike carefully looked around to make sure that Connor was out of range and that no one else was around. He double checked all of his friends and then read the incantation from the slip of paper.

"Krv drpglr pwlz chkwrt strplmt dwghzn prqlrzn wrtltz."

Immediately, a swirling silver vortex opened in the middle of the street. Spike carefully settled the Didio Sphere's chain around his neck and tucked the glowing ball into his shirt before nodding to Greg. The tension level in the SUV rose to an almost unbearable level as they approached the portal and Spike could have sworn that everyone held their breaths as the hood of the vehicle disappeared.

In the blink of an eye the park and Connor had disappeared. They were now surrounded by green unlike any seen outside of a golf course in years. The sheer beauty of the surroundings and the height of the trees was enough to make them all, except Anya, gasp in amazement.

"This is Pylea?" Greg asked the former vengeance demon once he had managed to shake off his amazement. "_This_ is a demon dimension?"

"Not all demon dimensions are big nasties and lava pits, you know. Pylea is actually one of the nicer ones. It's not like, say Quor'toth, which only the die-hard visit."

"Huh," Kate said, looking around with interest. "And Kal gave this up to come live in LA? He's either insane or stupid. Or both."

"Love's bitch, Pet," Spike commented, opening his door and climbing out. He stopped just clear of the door and closed his eyes, trying to adjust to the sounds and smells of nature. He had lived the last several decades of his unlife in urban areas and had gotten used to the pulse of city life. Nature, especially alien nature, was quite different.

He opened his eyes once again and looked around, taking in the sights and connecting them with smells and sounds. As he catalogued each and every one, something caught his eye.

"Uh, Anya, pet," he said, just as his friends were descending from the SUV. "That little phobia of yours. Is there anything you want to tell me about it? Like, maybe, that there's a perfectly good reason for it?"

"Don't even joke about it," she snapped with a shudder.

"Then you don't want to know about the hopper in the bush?"

Anya squealed and scrambled back into the vehicle. "Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!" she chanted in a shrill voice.

"It's only a rabbit," Kate soothed, grateful that Anya couldn't see her roll her eyes at the display of hysterics.

"It's a rabbit the size of a large dog," Spike pointed out, eyeing the creature warily. A rodent that big could do major damage with its incisors. Not to mention its powerful back legs.

"Oh, penis," Anya whimpered, cowering in the floorboard of the SUV. "It's a scout. If you don't kill it, it'll go back and gather its pack."

"Rabbits run in packs?" Greg questioned as he slowly but steadily moved to the back of the vehicle. A few more minutes and he would have a crossbow and the rabbit would be a memory.

"Would you just trust me and kill the damn thing?" she snapped, somehow managing to make her voice commanding and frightened at the same time.

Greg reached the back of the SUV and quickly extracted a crossbow, absently thanking the Powers that Anya's clothes had not been put over the weapon. A quick load followed by a practiced release dealt with the furry creature, the bolt going through one red eye.

Spike retrieved his ax from the front seat and carefully approached the twitching creature, checking to make sure that it was indeed dead. Greg had the crossbow reloaded and aimed at the base of the rabbit's skull by the time his friend had gone two steps. Kate also had her gun out and was sighted on the creature's mottled fur.

"Anyone up for some hasenpfeffer?" he called after a few kicks determined that the rabbit was indeed dead.

Anya gave a low moan at the idea.

"It's OK, pet. The 'wrascally wrabbit' is dead."

"Leave the girl alone, Spike," Greg chided as the blonde came back to the vehicle. "Which direction is the castle?"

"The Mouse said that there was a rock shaped like the Cookie Monster on one end of the field. That's the direction we have to go in."

"The Cookie Monster?" Kate questioned.

"Don't ask me. I'm just tellin' you what I was told."

"Maybe the Cookie Monster is based on a real demon from this dimension," Greg jested.

"No," Anya denied as she crawled from the SUV. She cast a wary look at the underbrush before continuing. "Cookie's not real. Oscar the Grouch, on the other hand, is. He's actually a really sweet guy. I told him way back when _Sesame Street_ first came on that he should sue Henson for defamation of character, but he was just too nice to do it."

She walked ahead of the others, having spotted the Cookie Monster-shaped rock, unaware of the amazed stares of her two human friends.

"Is she serious?" Greg asked Spike after a moment.

"Dunno, Fish. Never met the bloke. Snuffelupagus is nice enough though." He smirked as he left his two companions exchanging disbelieving looks.

* * *

It only took them a couple of hours to reach the village that surrounded the castle. Kate studied the squat rock and sod houses and wondered how the people could live in such conditions. Several doors stood open, allowing her a glimpse inside the dark dwellings. All had dirt floors and only a few had small windows to let in light and air. Though, she would suppose the thatch roofs allowed for a great deal of air flow.

She easily sidestepped an older, female demon of what Anya had described as the lowest caste. The woman looked up enough to see whom she had nearly bumped into, then with a look of fear scurried away.

Kate shrugged off the strange reaction and hurried after her companions. The group was following Anya's lead when it came to dealing with the Pyleans, and was allowing her to talk to the locals. At the moment, the former vengeance demon was questioning a demon that looked very much like Lorne, but without the tacky suit. From the looks of it, she was not getting very far. The Pylean had his eyes firmly planted on the ground and only shook his head in response to Anya's questions.

"This is getting us nowhere," the younger woman finally said as she turned to Greg. "I can barely get anyone to look at me, much less talk to me. I don't understand it. Pyleans are the most prideful race I know of. And they're all acting like a bunch of scared mice."

Kate looked around the village again, this time focusing her attention on the people, not the place. Anya was right; everyone walked with their heads down, gazes trained on the ground. None of them came close to the group from Earth, and in fact avoided them as if they had the plague.

"I thought Pylea was supposed to have an integrated society now," Greg questioned, motioning with one hand at the various demons wandering the village. Not a single human could be seen, other than their group.

"It does," Anya said, confusion coloring her voice. "The last time I was here, humans were living right alongside the demons. And before that, when they still practiced slavery, humans were everywhere, doing their daily chores. I just don't understand."

"These people are runnin' scared," Spike said, frowning at the scurrying mass. "I've cowed enough people to know what it looks like."

"We're not going to get any help here," Greg agreed with a decisive nod of his head. "Do we even have an inkling of where Kal would be?"

Anya shrugged. "I know his dame's farm is within walking distance, but that's about all. He never had a reason to give me directions."

"What about the castle," Kate asked, nodding her head at the imposing landmark.

Anya shook her head decisively. "The castle has always been a nonentity, since for most of Pylean history there was no crowned ruler. The Covenant of Trombli ruled Pylea from their stronghold."

"But that was before Kal took over, right?" Greg questioned, still a little vague on Pylean politics.

"It was. But most societies, once they overthrow a ruling monarch, create a center of government in a place other than the seat of royal power. A whole symbolic thing that I never got. I mean, they totally waste precious cash on building a new capital when they have a perfectly serviceable castle just sitting there."

"So that castle's out, then," Spike interrupted, keeping an amazing amount of snark out of his voice.

"The castle's out," she agreed.

"So we follow the road," Greg said, pointing to the dirt track under their feet. "There's only three roads that come into the village."

"Sounds a little simplistic," Kate pointed out.

"Got a better idea?" he challenged, both eyebrows raised. "We know the farm is within walking distance. Maybe the Pyleans outside of town will be a bit more forthcoming with their answers."

"Yeah, but what would Rex consider to be walkin' distance? Remember when we caught the tail end of that 5K race and he wanted to know why the runners were so tired?"

"If he could make it before dark, leaving at dawn, that would be walking distance," Anya supplied, knowing Kal's frame of reference better than the others.

"Alright," Greg said. "How about this: we'll camp outside of town tonight, then in the morning follow the south road until dark. If we don't find anything, we'll camp for the night and then come back in the morning. We'll follow the same pattern for the other two roads. If we don't find anything at the end of the last road, we'll decide on a new plan."

"Why don't we just take the truck?" Kate asked, her leg giving a twinge at the idea of pushing the recently healed bones that far. Anya was shaking her head before the question was even finished, though.

"Pyleans haven't invented combustible engines yet. Strictly horse or ox power."

"And I assume that they'd run screaming if they saw something like the SUV," Greg mused. A look at Anya confirmed his theory. "So, any other objections or ideas?"

A quick glance around was enough to show Kate that the others were open to the plan. With a sigh, she gestured for their illustrious leader to lead the way back to the truck to get their camping gear.

* * *

_Damn_, Connor thought as he dodged an oncoming car. Walking on campus was always a bit of a hazard, and at the moment he was running late, which only made the experience worse. He had spent the whole night working on last minute improvements of his latest engineering project, which was due by noon. He had finally fallen asleep on the couch in his apartment, and subsequently didn't hear the alarm ringing out the time.

A quick brush of his teeth and a change of clothes was all he could afford to do before snatching up his project and dashing out the door. As a result, he felt vaguely grimy and very annoyed, an emotion that just compounded his irritation about being left behind while the others went off in search of Kal.

Not that he didn't understand their reasoning. He knew as well as they did that it would be stupid to skip any time that he didn't have to. And with their "business," the possibility of him having to miss class due to death or injury was high. That didn't mean he was any less frustrated at missing out on the action.

Having a vampire's evil law firm covering the territory they usually covered didn't help the situation. He had met Gunn last night, along with his group of "Special Project" trained soldiers. They had not impressed him in the least. Gunn had taken one look at his slight frame and dismissed him as a liability and subsequently ordered him to keep his nose out of their way.

He sidestepped a student who was loitering in the middle of the walk, growling under his breath about the insensitivity of some people. He had to dodge several more pedestrians as he made his way to towards his professor's office. He was moving as fast as he could without drawing attention to either his unnatural strength or speed. He only hoped he could make it to the office in the ten minutes he had left.

Worry over missing the deadline caused him to almost miss the mailbox that was also on his list of places to be. He barely paused long enough to slip Spike's letter into the black maw before he was once again weaving in and out of the students who were heading to lunch.

He was just outside the engineering building, with five whole minutes left before the deadline, when he smelled her. The combination of Truth perfume, Pantene hair care products, and that unique scent that was especially Val's was always enough to make him smile. And today was no different. Conscious of his deadline, he hurried on, silently promising himself that he would track down his beautiful girlfriend later.

He turned his project in, much to the amusement of his professor, who had looked pointedly at the digital clock displayed on his desk, the one that counted down the time until the next deadline. He once again exited the building, only to be assaulted by Val's scent once again. This time the smell was accompanied by the brunette launching himself into his arms.

"Hey," he said with a grin, after receiving a hello kiss.

"Hey, back," she replied, smiling up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Had to turn in a project," he explained as he wrapped one arm around her and escorted her down the sidewalk. "You?"

She gave him a happy smile. "I was on my way to lunch when I saw you. Want to join me? I'm planning on going to the dorm and scrounging up some spaghetti." At his agreement, she continued. "Where did you say the convention was?" she asked, referring to his cover story for why his friends had left LA.

"Chicago," he told her, his voice reflecting the bitterness he still felt at being left behind.

"Still sulking," she observed, giving him a cheeky grin. It was designed to tease him out of his foul mood, and it did the job.

They entered her dorm through the fire escape and crossed the hall into her room. She often joked that it was the best room in the dorm to have, since she only had to take a few steps whenever the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night. He had to admit, living on the eighth floor would suck when the fire alarm went off at two am.

"What kinds of things happen at a private security convention, anyway?" she asked as she puttered around the room, getting the tools necessary to heat up a jar of Prego and boil water for pasta.

Connor shrugged and relaxed on her bed, back supported by the wall. "Canine techniques, marketing, media coverage."

"Sounds… Ah… Interesting," she observed, her voice revealing that she thought it was anything but.

"Yeah, I know," he said with a grin. "I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it either."

"So why are you still sulking?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, unable to come up with a reason why he would want to go to the fictitious convention. He briefly considered telling her the truth, but discarded it as soon as he thought of it. He _liked_ Val not knowing about everything. She was his safe port in the storm that was his screwed up life.

She grinned at his obvious discomfort and continued preparing their meal, humming a soothing tune as she worked. Connor smiled at the hominess of it and closed his eyes, entertaining the thought of staying like that forever.

"Connor," Val said quietly. He could hear her padding closer to him and smiled in response. "I wish you would have told me the truth."

He opened his eyes in confusion only to shut them again as pain tore through his body. The sizzle and pop of electricity was unnaturally loud even with his enhanced hearing and the taste of bile and bologna flooded his mouth.

As abruptly as the pain had started, it stopped, leaving him weak and gasping. He struggled to open his eyes, to move his arms, to stand up and run, but his body refused to obey his commands. He fought against the panic that bubbled up inside of him and finally opened his eyes to look up at his girlfriend.

"V-val?"

"It would have been easier if you had just told the truth," she sighed as she stood staring down at him. "But he's getting impatient, so I had to resort to this." She jiggled the tazer, drawing his attention to it.

"Believe it or not, I really am sorry," she said as she once again held the device to his chest and fired.


End file.
